The Witch of 221b Baker Street
by sakurademonalchemist
Summary: Joanna Watson was a woman of many secrets. For years she had hidden her true nature away after realizing that perhaps being a witch wasn't worth it. She thought she would forever be alone...until the day she met him. Sherlock Holmes, an eccentric genius who might have what it takes to see past the mask she created and see her true self. Fem Harry/Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**Happy Thanksgiving! Sorry about the mix up with _Here in an Instant, Gone in a Flash_ earlier!**

* * *

The first day she became Joanna "John" Harriet Watson, she had come to the cold hard realization that the world she thought was her escape from an absolutely awful home life wasn't as good as she had thought. Sure, there were a few creature comforts that made it more tolerable, but peel away the layers...lo and behold, it's a new form of misery, except this one comes with many new ways of forcing you into a box you couldn't escape. Not with any real success.

After yet another day of zero help for her mind after seeing Cedric die right in front of her, and worse, realizing she was being stalked by inept amateurs, she knew that she had to do something.

So she visited the library under the premise of escaping the heat.

And on a whim she went onto the library computers and typed in Hogwarts.

What she found left her in shock.

The lie about equality for muggleborns was the boldest lie she had ever seen in her life. Not only were the conditions worse, but it was a long painful road just to get a crappy job in the mundane world after graduation.

It came as a cold, hard shock realizing that she'd never be more than a brood mare and poster girl if she survived to graduation. Dumbledore sure as hell wasn't going to train her. From what little her 'friends' and godfather had alluded to, the man was screening their mail and keeping her in an information dead zone.

And that was the last straw. Thanks to the forum she stumbled upon, it wasn't that hard to realize if she wanted to have a proper life, she would have to reinvent herself and leave Hogwarts far, far behind.

That meant money, and a pressing need to get a new name because Potter was too recognizable.

Fortunately she had a plethora of names to choose from, and the perfect place to come up with an escape plan in peace.

It wasn't until she found an old book, a fictional novel of a great detective based on an actual detective and his arch nemesis that she came upon a stroke of genius.

Everything began to tumble down from there. Letters sent to Gringotts on the sly with the ones she sent Hermione and the others (all boring letters that left almost the same amount of information they gave her, with enough variances that they wouldn't assume it was all written at the same time), a discreet portkey and time turner allowing her to become her own alibi, and a long in depth talk with the goblins meant she was about as prepared as she would be to leave and never look back.

God knows she had no reason to have any real fond memories of the magical world.

It was the attack by the dementors that pushed her over the edge though. While Petunia and Vernon drove Dudley to the emergency room, after locking her in her own, and the multiple visits from the owls, she knew it was past time to make a break for it.

The dementors, as she had been repeatedly told, were controlled by the Ministry. That meant someone there wanted her dead, or at the very least expelled.

Well, far be it for her to give them the satisfaction of a kangaroo trial. And the goblins were more than happy to give her a body double long enough for her to escape and only come back when she was of the age of majority.

By the laws of magic, not even Dumbledore could tell her where to go or how to live her life once she hit twenty-two.

Which meant she had to make herself scarce until that time. The longer she kept her pursuers off, the hard it would be for them to make her their puppet, or worse force her to clean up their damn mess.

Three days before the "Order" would bother to remove her from the house, she had already left to start her life over.

Living in a boarding house for orphaned girls was weird, but it was still preferable to the Dursleys or Dumbledore's idea of protection. And as long as she followed the rules, she could blend in. Be as anonymous as everyone else.

She loved every moment of it.

* * *

It wasn't until she was seventeen before she realized something.

She wasn't as enthusiastic about guys as most of her roommates. In fact she found them to be dull, lifeless and downright boring. The few times she attempted to date one, she had gotten so fed up with their stupidity and their blatant attempts to get into her pants that she didn't go out for a second date.

At her 'magical majority' as most believed it to be, she came to the revelation that perhaps she would be better off batting for the same team.

At seventeen and six months, she had a date with a girl and actually _enjoyed_ herself. It all snowballed from there.

Joanna could appreciate men, and is fully aware that she is bi, but with a higher preference to women. But something inside her snaps and something new clicks into place.

She's happy. Genuinely happy.

Even as she works her way into attending Barts, because if she's going to get hurt then she wants to be able to patch herself up rather than rely on the "mercies" of people who need to work on their bedside manner.

She wanted to be the one people turned to when they needed help. To learn how to fight and heal at the same time.

And really, the support group helps more than anyone could have believed. Having people who understood her desire to be free of the idiocy that is the magical society. To not have to deal with the hypocrisy that thrives, even as the war begins to kick into gear the moment Voldemort and Dumbledore both realize she's very determined not to be found, much less dragged into their fight.

She learned more about magic going to those than she had in four years of magical schooling at Hogwarts.

Life was good, and it was only getting better now that she had quit sitting on her ass and letting people supposedly wiser dictate how her life should go.

* * *

 _Ten Years Later..._

Walking with a limp was absolutely bloody annoying. Honestly, she didn't know how Moody could stand it.

"John! John Watson!"

Joanna turned to the voice, and recognized Mike after a brief moment.

At this point she was used to the fact her preference to wear baggy shirts and multiple layers, and keep her hair cropped short made people believe Joanna was a man. As a result, people simply called her John Watson, and she rarely bothered to correct them. The misconception of her gender had made it laughably easy to hide.

As they sat drinking their coffee, Joanna lamented on how hard it was to find a flatmate that wouldn't be put off with the fact she was a lesbian with a few weird habits. She was polite enough to never bring her one-night stands home, or to broadcast her preferences blatantly, but there were a few homophobic people out there. Or idiots who thought they could convince her to a threesome.

God she hated those.

"What?"

"Well you're the second person to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

And why did Mike have such a strange expression on his face?

* * *

 _In the lab..._

Her first impression of Sherlock Holmes was that while he was arrogant, it wasn't to the same point as Draco Malfoy or his father had been. No, this was a self-assured arrogance that had been tested and proven multiple times.

It hadn't taken more than three seconds after Sherlock asked "Afghanistan or Iraq?" that she realized he had an observational capacity at the same level as herself.

She also noted with a great deal of amusement, though her confusion hid it well enough that he didn't realize, that he has made the same critical mistake in her gender as damn near everyone else had shortly after she got her hair cut short.

It wasn't until Sherlock left that Mike broached the topic she had been unwilling to discuss in a public setting. Certainly not in a park.

"So what happened? Last I heard you were being shot at in the desert."

"Officially I was shot, and they sent me back."

"Unofficially?"

"I had a...disagreement...with three sons of some high ranking generals when they found out my gender. I agreed to leave the service without raising a fuss in exchange for a full pension, with the agreement I not press charges."

Mike winced.

The last and only time he heard of someone attempting to take advantage of Joanne's gender ended up with the assailants with a permanent fear of doctors with light hair.

Joanna tolerated idiots who thought the fact she was a lesbian was a sin...but she did not suffer fools who tried to force themselves on women.

Mike had heard rumors of the damage she had done to people like that. And that she had allowed others to make the mistake about her gender and name to lower the chances of being harassed.

And really, what little she said about the matter said more than enough about what happened.

He almost pitied them, but anyone attempting to force themselves on Joanna deserved anything her horrifying devious mind could come up with.

* * *

Joanna has to avoid quirking her lips in open amusement. Because really, Sherlock's arrogance is almost grating, except she's been around far worse.

His level of observation is astounding, but the conclusions he draws are so off it's taking everything she has not to laugh.

Sherlock has no way of knowing that the phone he 'borrowed' actually is John's, and that she had broke it off with Clara after a mutual agreement.

Clara wanted children and had found a nice man in their support group. John wasn't anywhere near ready to have children, but wasn't going to stop someone from finding their own happiness.

Really, she had to find a way to get rid of her bad habit of self sacrificing for the good of others. Her former friend had called it a saving people thing.

Joanna's former psychiatrist had said it was an ingrained response from her abusive childhood. A need of a child who had been denied far too much attempting to make others like her, even if it meant giving up her own happiness in exchange.

And yet the strange thing was that her natural charisma made such actions increase her sphere of influence.

Right now she was just trying her very best to laugh while her potential flatmate make all the wrong conclusions.

"Unbelievable."

"So I'm right."

"Well..."

Sherlock's attention zoomed in on Watson.

"Clara left Harry, Harry has poor eyesight but hates wearing glasses at night. And Harry is short for Harriet."

Left unspoken was that "Harriet" was in fact Joanna, and that they had broken up by mutual agreement. Clara had found a nice man, Joanna wasn't ready for kids. They still talked amicably at their support group.

"Harry's your sister," said Sherlock, looking like he wanted to kick himself for missing that possibility. "Always something."

Joanna's amusement went up again. She briefly toyed with the idea of telling him that Harriet was in fact _her_ , but decided against it. If and when he copped on to her actual gender, then she could tell him.

However that amusement went away very quickly upon meeting Sergeant Donovan. Anyone that so casually called someone who was a little different a "freak" just because they had a slightly grating personality was no one she wanted to know. Let alone be friendly with.

Seeing Sherlock give them a richly deserved embarrassment in front of their co-workers, her estimation of him went up. As flatmates, she could certainly do worse than an eccentric guy with a crime addiction.

Though her attitude alone meant Joanna wouldn't think twice about leaving time-delayed prank spells on her.

Seeing the dead body, the only thing she could think of was...

 _That is way too much pink, and for a woman her age it just makes her look horrible._

"Well Dr. Watson, what you do think?"

"Does she have a phone on her?" she asked intently. Because really, the only reason she could openly think of for a woman who was dying to write something like "Rachel" would be if it were the password to something.

"There was no phone," said Lestrade.

"What about a purse, a suitcase?"

"There was no case. There never was a case," said Lestrade.

Sherlock's estimation of Dr. Watson went up. Clearly he wasn't as big an idiot as half of Scotland Yard.

"What makes you think there's a phone?" asked Sherlock, as if asking Watson to explain his reasoning.

"Come on, everyone has a mobile these days. And from the expensive nature of the shoes alone I'd say it's a smart phone. That means it has GPS. And the only reason for a dead woman to write something like a name would be if it was a password to something, likely her mobile to track it."

As they walked out, Joanna could see she had gained a bit of respect in Sherlock's eyes. More than Anderson or Sergeant Donovan had in any rate.

She could have done without the weird stalking via the phones though.

* * *

Joanna looked at the almost pristine scarecrow in front of her, and had an epiphany just hearing him speak.

This man was almost certainly Sherlock's brother. She hadn't heard that tone of voice since meeting the Weasleys during that fiasco at the World Cup.

Concern for the welfare of a sibling, and considering the lines he was betting older.

"Dr. Joanna Harriet Watson."

"Well you're more perceptive than your brother at any rate," said Joanna.

That threw him off.

"Excuse me?"

"It's fairly obvious. You show concern for Sherlock Holmes, but the tone says that it's more out of familial concern than any criminal activity. From the way you hold yourself you have the same ingrained arrogance, but you've learned how to temper it by being diplomatic about it. And the only way you'd be able to get those files so easily would be if you were in the government. Very high up in the government."

"Impressive," he replied.

"Well that and we make a point to know those in the position to do some actual good who come from magical families. But you already knew that, didn't you, Mycroft Holmes?"

Mycroft had a thin smile on his face. This wasn't how he expected this meeting to go.

Then again he wasn't anticipating being busted almost immediately. Let alone being faced with an observation on the same level as his own brother.

He had thought he was dealing with a muggleborn who came up under dubious circumstances from overseas. One who had the sense to keep up with their magical education enough that they were able to make something of themselves.

"What is your opinion of Sherlock?" he asked, deciding to change tactics.

"He's an arrogant, but brilliant young man who thrives on solving crimes the Yard can't, and he knows it. Still better than half the people I've tried to share a flat with before," deadpanned Joanna. "He also hasn't figured out that I'm a woman."

Mycroft had a strange look on his face.

"I could be 'bribed' for photos you can use for blackmail or teasing rights, but I will not act as a spy," said Joanna flatly.

"Trust issues, this says. Why do you trust Sherlock Holmes?"

"I find him amusing. That and I got the distinct impression that even after he finds out the full truth about me he won't be impressed in the least, much less care. And frankly I'd rather have someone who actually sees the world for what it is than another idiot who looks at the world with rose-tinted glasses."

Joanna made a rather favorable impression, all things considered, with Mycroft. She could live with him keeping an eye on her since it was more for her proximity to Sherlock than anything else.

Somehow she had a feeling she was going to enjoy her time at 221b Baker street.


	2. Chapter 2

Joanna watched the man bustle about in an excited daze.

"He's not even going to listen to me if I try to claim we're not dating is he?"

"Not in the least," said Sherlock. "Why do you have your mobile out?"

"Tracking."

Sherlock blinked.

"Tracking?" he said baffled.

"The phone number on the case. There's an app for almost anything. Including tracking someone by their phone number," said Joanna slowly.

"But that's so boring," complained Sherlock.

"Well how else will we know we have the right person when whoever it is shows up, and not some patsy they paid to come instead?" said Joanna.

Sherlock blinked, before silently conceding the point.

"There. Don't stare."

"Well I'm not exactly in a spot _to_ be staring, am I? Besides you're doing enough of it for two people," snarked Joanna. She got cranky when she hadn't had anything to eat.

If it wasn't for the fact one of her friends in the support group had gotten her hooked on parkour, she never would have been able to keep up with Sherlock.

It was somewhat gratifying to hear Sherlock's smug tone when he told Mrs. Hudson that she would be taking the apartment. As if it was a given that they'd be flatmates after Sherlock had gotten all the data he needed.

He was still the least grating man she had been around in years.

However finding the police doing a "drugs bust" on Sherlock made her glad that most of her things were still in her old apartment. She learned early on that items would only slow you down. She kept everything important in an expanded duffel bag that she kept in a safe place in the event she had to make a quick exit.

It didn't take much for her to keep an eye out for the cabbie. If the passenger had been from the States, then it had to be the cabbie who had the phone. The app clearly showed that the phone had been in the car once it got far enough away for her to take it out.

And if she had a good enough read on Sherlock, he wouldn't rest if he found the killer. He'd be determined to outwit the man.

"Ow!"

"You deserved it. What the bloody hell were you thinking, putting that pill anywhere near your mouth you idiot!"

"Did you just... slap me?"

"Would you prefer I break out the gun and shoot you in the leg?"

"I'll stick to the slap thanks."

They both heard a snort, and turned find Mycroft.

"It seems you've finally met your match."

From the look on Sherlock's face, it was clear he didn't get the hint. Watson could be good for Sherlock. Where he honed his skills to find clues criminals left behind, Joanna honed her ability to detect threats in a crowd and to diagnose what was wrong with a patient.

She was happy to have her guess about the two being brothers confirmed.

* * *

Joanna merely had to look at the date to realize she had the perfect opportunity to send Mycroft some blackmail and tell Sherlock her actual gender.

That time of the month was almost upon her, which meant that he'd figure it out eventually anyway. She just wanted maximum impact for blackmail material.

She rigged a small camera up at just the perfect angle to catch the face of whoever walked in. Mrs. Hudson had left for a few hours, and she had calculated Sherlock's usual duration between when he drank tea or liquid and hitting the bathroom.

Joanna was taking a light shower after a jog, and as she predicted Sherlock walked in, and it took him four point five seconds before he realized what he was seeing. He also completely missed the camera going off. Fortunately thanks to the fog and the fact she was behind some rather obscuring curtains, he didn't see too much. But he saw enough (mainly her profile) to realize that Joanna wasn't actually a man.

"What..."

"Sherlock! Did it ever occur to you to _knock_ ," she hissed, wrapping a towel around herself.

Sherlock looked at her, glad for the towel, before he said baffled "You're a woman?"

Joanna rolled her eyes.

"Everyone calls me John because it means I have to deal with less sexual harassment. Let me get dressed and I'll explain everything."

Sherlock nodded almost in shock. He slowly closed the door...and likely went to use the other bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Sherlock was sitting with an odd expression on his face as he observed John...or Joanna, apparently.

"First off, I was born a woman and I let people call me John because it's easier to deal with people apologizing for getting my name and gender wrong than idiots who harass me for being a lesbian. Second, remember the phone you thought belonged to my sister? It actually was mine, and I had a mutual agreement to split up with Clara," said Joanna.

Sherlock's expression didn't change overly much, though now it was more pensive and he seemed more calculating than before.

"You're not mad are you?"

"Not angry, just...confused."

"Confused how you missed it before?" she said wryly.

"No I can understand how I missed it. I normally don't pay attention to the gender of others. There's also the fact you've clearly trained yourself to mask your gender."

It also explained how his part of the flat suddenly got a lot more tidy, and his cabinets full of fresh food. He hadn't seen any dust for days since Joanna moved in.

"You can still call me John if you like. It doesn't really matter to me. I just prefer to wear male-oriented clothing...though occasionally I will wear a kilt to confuse people."

"How good is your deductive reasoning?" asked Sherlock. He had noticed her borrowing some of his books by chance.

"I can diagnose people within five minutes and assess threat levels of potential enemies with an eighty-five percent accuracy," deadpanned Joanna. "I also have something close to an OCD nature when it comes to keeping my space clean and I rarely bring any dates back to my house if I'm sharing it with someone else."

Sherlock hummed in his throat.

Finding out his flatmate was a lesbian with an identity crisis was surprising, but not something that overly bothered him. He could gather from the way she said she didn't bring dates home that she had prior experiences that told her it wasn't the best idea. Likely from other flatmates not being as...considerate...as she was.

The probability was that said flatmates were male.

"Just avoid me during the first four or five days of the full moon and you should be safe from any unpleasantness," said Joanna.

"Duly noted."

Sherlock would only find out after the fact she happened to 'sell' the picture of his reaction to learning his flatmate was a woman to his brother. When he inquired about it, she had a rather mischievous grin on her face.

"I said I wouldn't spy on you. I said nothing about sharing blackmail with your family."

* * *

 _One week later..._

" _Please scan item again."_

"I hate technology," said Joanna crossly.

" _Please use alternative method of payment."_

Joanna threw her hands up in defeat...figuratively speaking... before declaring "Forget it!"

She was hitting the magically-grown home foods market and butchery.

Time to hit Technic Alley.

It was a magical alley that catered only to the muggleborns or those muggle raised. No pure blood would dare set foot in it because there wasn't a single one of their own 'kind' running the shops. Pure Bloods tended to shy away from technology.

Besides, buying from Technic Alley meant she could use a bottomless bag and make it easier to transport home.

"Joanna! How's the new flatmate working for you?" said Jake, who ran the grocers.

"He's an arrogant, eccentric ass with a bad habit of annoying others and seeing far too much. Best. Flatmate. Ever," grinned Joanna.

"The card reader kicked your arse again?" said Jake knowingly.

"I hate this new technology," said Joanna.

"Give it time. In the meantime, how about some potatoes. Fresh from Ireland this morning," said Jake.

"Load me up," said Joanna.

"Twenty galleons and five sickles."

The price was a bit higher than the store, but she didn't have to worry about pesticides and it was guaranteed fresh. Magic made it easier to transport in bulk at a much lower cost. Besides, what was she going to spend that gold on? Potion ingredients?

One trip to the butchers, and she was hailing a cab back to Baker street. It wasn't that she couldn't apparate, but she preferred having a chance to rest her feet.

"I got the groceries. Though I had to go out of the way when I had a row with the machine."

"You had a row...with a machine?" said Sherlock. He almost looked...puzzled.

"I stood there and shouted abuse for three minutes. It didn't accept my card, so I went somewhere else."

"You could have taken my card," said Sherlock.

"I'll keep that in mind next time. For now I'll put up the groceries. Any requests for dinner?"

"Not really," said Sherlock.

"I got a good deal on some chicken, so I suppose we'll have that for dinner. Did you have fun while I was out?"

"Fun?"

Joanna looked at the sword just under Sherlock's chair. He might have pretended he hadn't moved since she left the house, but he had a different book from this morning and she knew he didn't have a sword. Not to mention the minor damages to the wall and table.

"Ah yes. I sent a message declining the case of the Jaria diamond."

Joanna hummed in her throat, putting up the groceries.

"I need to make a run to the bank," said Sherlock.

"You could have asked to borrow my laptop," she said without looking. She had left hers on the table, and his was in his room. However she had already anticipated his bad habit of not asking before borrowing, so she had added a guest account and changed her password just in case.

She highly doubted Sherlock would be able to guess that the new password was "triskaidekaphobia".

(And yes, that is a real word and phobia. Specifically the "fear of the number 13.")

Once she finished, she sat down on the chair and saw the number of bills piling up.

"Looks like I'll have to schedule a few more shifts at the clinic again," she said tiredly.

Joanna was a doctor at a muggleborn-run clinic. It mixed magical and modern medicine with great efficacy and an almost unheard of level of success rates. The number of deaths since it's founding was under a hundred for the past decade alone.

The clinic had a permanent add in the major papers for parents who had children that displayed unusual abilities. Things that generally indicated accidental magic.

Freaked out parents would make an appointment, and they would tell them what was happening and give a believable demonstration. Then they also warned them about Hogwarts and gave them alternatives to the ancient castle.

They had much more success since Joanna helped to pay for a better placement in the papers.

The number of muggleborns lost to Hogwarts dropped. And it became almost nonexistent after Joanna not only found Hermione's parents, but broke her weak spellwork on them that kept them from remembering her.

They were not happy, and they were more than glad to provide precautionary tales of what happened when children became too enamored with the current system that was desperately in need of an overhaul.

Joanna and the staff did their best to redirect any possible muggleborn students to the school that the 'rejects' made to get back at the very pure bloods who kicked them out after graduation. There weren't magical classes per-say, but there were magical study groups.

Strangely it seemed to work a lot better than large classes that practically crammed homework down the throats of children. Especially since there wasn't a defunct house system with a point system that was worthless to get in the way.

"Ugh, sounds boring."

"You might enjoy it. Tell you what, why don't you join me for my support group in two weeks. You might actually have fun," said Joanna.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry about the delay in updates folks! My dad is in from Arizona so I've been hanging out with him rather than typing. On the plus side, might be getting a new computer soon, so that means faster updates!**

* * *

Joanna was cooking a late lunch, seeing as how she really didn't want to waste more money on dining out than she really had to.

Sherlock didn't care one way or the other, especially when he was given a taste of her culinary talent that she had earned the hard way.

(Unspoken was the fact that the food was almost always healthier than anything her aunt forced her to cook year after year.)

Sherlock was trying to figure out who could have possibly killed the banker when Joanna spoke up while doing the dishes.

"Why Chinese?"

"Sorry?"

"Just wondering aloud about why someone would paint Chinese numbers on a wall in an English bank."

Sherlock immediately honed in on his flatmate.

"You know what the symbols are."

"Vaguely, yes. Spent some time in China doing research for a few months, and one of the few things I remember are numbers."

And that was because numbers tended to be universal. Once you had the basic 0 to 9 down, it made communication a bit easier. Not impossible, but easier.

(Mainly because numbers were the first thing EVERYONE learned at some point, if only to count money.)

She could feel his eyes on her.

"Why on earth would you want to go to China?" he asked finally.

"Long story short I was collecting myths from around the world on birds, and the easiest way to make sure the stories are written properly is to go to the source."

Her animagus form was a bird, and it wasn't until she went to China that she discovered what. But she wasn't going to explain that to Sherlock just yet.

Either he was unaware of his magical heritage, or he just didn't care. It was fifty-fifty.

It was obvious he suspected something, but he opted not to ask outside of what numbers were painted on the wall.

* * *

Joanna wasn't the least bit shocked to see Sherlock in the theater where she had taken her date. After all, he had bought the tickets online, since she didn't actually have a credit card. As a matter of fact, she rarely carried any plastic, and usually got fed up with the hidden fees to the point she canceled the card and melted it.

She found blowing things up quite cathartic.

"Is that your boyfriend? I thought you said you were..." started Eliza.

"Flatmate, and he's a bit of a busybody. Or bored, hard to tell," said Joanna quickly.

Sherlock had followed her purely for one reason. So he could antagonize the hidden Chinese smugglers who he knew were behind the mystery murders.

Frankly she could have done without her and her date Eliza being kidnapped because she did too good a job at disguising her gender. And really, did Sherlock have to be so damn smug about rescuing a 'damsel in distress'? If he made one more smug remark about it, she was going to drag him into her special "Sex Ed" class!

* * *

 _One week later..._

Joanna's eyebrow twitched. That was _it_. Sherlock was going to SUFFER.

* * *

"Hello everyone. My name is Doctor Joanna Watson, and this is my helper Sherlock. Now to forestall any threats of dragging me into court for mental trauma, I'm rather pleased to inform you that every single one of your parents signed a strict nondisclosure agreement along with the standard fee to insure you got into this class. I'm also equally certain that most of you already know HOW children are made by this point, otherwise your parents wouldn't have forced you to attend this all-day class. Fortunately for you, this only takes one day, and it's done in stages so you can still eat lunch and have a break. Are there any questions?" she said far too cheerfully.

"I have one. Why on _earth_ did you drag me along to this?" asked Sherlock, completely baffled.

"You annoyed me to the point I chose to put you through some mental trauma rather than prank the living daylights out of you. Coincidentally I told your brother I'd be putting you through the class and he demanded pictures," said Joanna simply. "Any _other_ questions?"

Seeing there were none, Joanna grinned. This was going to be _hilarious_ , but then again it always was.

"Alright everyone, since there's no point explaining the process of how children are made to teenagers who have probably figured it out by now, instead we're going to focus on the after math."

What Joanna popped into the DVD player would haunt the memories of the teens (and Sherlock) for years to come.

Most of the teenagers who were forcibly signed up were promiscuous (read: too easy) or highly religious girls. There was always the odd boy in the class, usually those who had knocked a girl up, or the parents thought they did.

Again, Sherlock was forcibly made to sit through the class after annoying her during that time of the month one too many times.

Once the tape started playing, it took everyone a few moments to register what they were being forced to watch. All cells were confiscated, the only WiFi to be found was on a heavily secured network that was for staff use only, and the door had been hit with a charm that made them forget where it was.

For the next three hours, they were forced to watch a highly graphic video of a woman giving birth, from dilation all the way to the afterbirth.

Joanna saw the same thing during her rotation in the wing where they delivered infants. Since it was such a small hospital, compared to Barts or St. Mungo's, everyone eventually had to do a shift delivering baby's. There were so few magically trained doctors it was inevitable.

Instead she killed time playing games on her phone with headphones to drown out the screams of pain from the woman.

Once it was over, they took a break to eat something and use the restroom.

But the worst was yet to come.

"So you've seen how a baby is born," she said cheerfully, noticing the pale and ill expressions on everyone's faces. Sherlock was starting to recover, but he was the only one.

Most people were grossed out, but very rarely did they throw up. They deliberately laced the water with a medicine to prevent it. And the parents were always informed of what their children were going through, to warn the teens the full consequences of getting pregnant.

Her grin was absolutely _evil_ as she happily informed them of stage two. Care of newborn infants.

Sherlock had the most disgusted expression on his face as he was forced to help feed, change, and burp fifteen infants under a month old with the class.

He was aware of Joanna grinning and taking multiple pictures of his expression, and then sending the lot of them to Mycroft.

It took them two hours to finish (mostly because they had to be corrected on the way to _properly_ change an infant's diaper, not to mention settle the infants down).

By this point the teenagers were emotionally drained and more than ready to go home. The reason behind the class had been more or less hammered in to them all, as they quickly realized the nightmares of raising a newborn infant.

But to make sure the lesson stuck until they were old enough to be legally considered adults, Joanna had one final stage she enjoyed forcing the class through.

Forcing everyone to help the daycare, which kept an eye on over thirty magical children six and under. Children who were too young to attend preschool. Originally it was for the doctors and nurses with kids too young to attend normal school, but it quickly expanded to acting as a way for the regular patients to go to work and be assured that their kids were in the best possible care. They cared for almost every kid born to muggleborn parents in the greater London area.

Sherlock had a look of pure panic at the thought of being made to care for the children, several of which were already throwing a massive tantrum.

He gave Joanna a pleading expression. She wasn't completely heartless.

"Relax. I'm annoyed, but I'm not unnecessarily cruel to people I live with. You don't have to help with the kids."

The look of pure relief on his face made her snicker.

"I must admit, this class seems to be highly effective in curtailing underage pregnancy."

"Trust me, this is nothing compared to the other Sex Ed class I teach at Barts."

Sherlock looked at her incredulous.

"There's _more_?"

"Oh yes. For those that don't get the message from this class, there's a second, much worse class. For the rare few who don't get the hint, I take them on an in-depth look at what diseases one gets from being careless and sleeping around without protection. They have to see the effects of things like AIDs, herpes, crabs and HIV up close. Generally they learn to curtail their behavior, at least until college and too much alcohol makes them forget. By that time they're no longer my problem."

Sherlock had the sudden image of how his brother would react to being dragged into this awful class.

She looked positively wicked as she asked "So did you learn your lesson regarding getting on my nerves during that time of the month?"

Sherlock shuddered openly. Forcing him to deal with children... his flatmate was evil incarnate.

* * *

Joanna came back from the grocery shopping, only spending two sickles this time, to find Mycroft in the flat. She ignored him and put the groceries up.

"I'm curious, Dr. Watson, as to the exact nature of my brother's infraction that you felt you needed to inflict your class on him."

Joanna didn't speak, continuing to ignore Mycroft as Sherlock opted to say the supposed 'infraction' that annoyed his flatmate so much.

"I ate the last of the mixed ice cream during her menstrual cycle."

Joanna twitched. She had thought Mrs. Hudson had eaten it, as she loved that brand as well.

"Actually it was the minor explosion after a double night shift, combined with the fact I found yet another one of your experiments in the fridge instead of my ready made casserole," said Joanna.

Seeing the looks they shot her, she glared at Sherlock.

"You of all people should have noted that I despise mornings. And I most certainly don't appreciate being awakened at six when I had only gotten two hours of sleep by one of your 'experiments'!"

Sherlock winced.

"And the ice cream?"

"I thought Mrs. Hudson ate it. Though now I know to check around the flat next time it goes missing, or to leave little traps. Don't cross a prankster Sherlock...it never ends well," said Joanna flatly.

After all, she was one of the main reasons why the value of a galleon had suddenly become as low as an American penny.

The wizards and witches had no idea how to handle the idea that a galleon was almost worthless, but a knut was suddenly worth more than gold.

And she had done it purely to get back at the pure bloods, since they were the idiots who thought closing the borders to all foreign wizards was a smart move.

Because of that, they couldn't exchange the sudden influx of gold bullion or galleons for goods, and there was too much gold and not enough copper.

It was easier for the new bloods. They simply flipped 'knut' for 'galleon', since Joanna never touched the silver stock. Most had the common sense to stockpile galleons now, and pay everything in sickles, since they hadn't changed in value at all.

Honestly, the pure bloods were idiots. They kept handing over their gold since they thought knuts would remain high value, unaware that they were merely trapping themselves.

They were going to wait for the idiots to get settled into the idea that knuts were valuable, before flipping things back to the way things used to be.

Likely when they took over the Ministry, or knocked the old bloods off their pedestals.

So give or take a decade.

Joanna started working on dinner, only pausing briefly to inquire if Mycroft was staying.

He left, but the first thing she did once he was gone and she had finished making dinner was sweep the flat. She found no less than ten bugs and five small cameras, which she disposed of.

* * *

It took all of a week for Sherlock to discover the benefits of living in the same flat as a prankster.

He found Joanna whipping up a random concoction with a Bunsen burner and a wok, and strange ingredients.

"What are you doing?"

"Making up something special to annoy Sergeant Donovan. Honestly, you'd think she would pick up on the fact I dislike the word 'freak' being spoken in my presence," said Joanna.

Donovan had the worst habit of referring to Sherlock as a 'freak' whenever he showed up to a crime scene. Anderson was almost as bad, but Lestrade had him on a leash.

Sherlock observed her as she worked.

He seemed fascinated by the entire process of her making a mild potion designed to irritate when around a certain trigger. In this case, considering she was adding coffee grounds, it would make working long hours rather difficult. It degraded rather quickly, a week at most. But it would annoy Donovan greatly.

"Interesting."

"I can show you how to make things like this. And it comes with a higher percentage of things blowing up because of a mixture gone wrong," said Joanna, stirring the wok with practiced ease.

His eyes glinted.

"I thought you were against explosions."

"I hate hearing them before ten," she corrected. "Any time after that and I'd be more than happy to create them in a controlled setting."

Sherlock grinned viciously. It was so nice having a comrade who liked to cause explosions in the spirit of experimentation.

With a loud poof, Joanna barely managed to avoid getting too much of the smoke that came off the potion she had just made.

"Coincidentally if I find one more head in the fridge, I'm going to start leaving my own 'ingredients' around the flat for you to stumble upon," said Joanna flatly.

Sherlock snorted.

"I mean it Sherlock. You're going to find newt eyes and rat spleens in the weirdest places stuck in preservation fluid," said Joanna.


	4. Chapter 4

Joanna's tolerance of Sherlock's extreme boredom cycles lasted as long as it took for him to start shooting up the walls. With _her_ gun. That he had to have gotten by breaking into her part of the flat.

Her eyebrow twitched as she confiscated her weapon from the eccentric genius.

"Right, that's enough of that."

Hearing Sherlock moan about boredom, Joanna had a sudden wicked idea.

"I know that look. What are you planning?"

Sherlock developed a healthy set of paranoia whenever he saw certain expressions on his flat mate's face. Joanna was an excellent partner and one who could usually keep up with his deductions...but she put up with a lot of his eccentric habits. Like the violin at four in the morning, or the many random body parts in the fridge and cabinets.

While Sherlock had days of prolonged silences and extreme boredom, Joanna had days where she was rather mischievous and melancholy. The latter was rare, usually when she had a painful reminder of the past, but the former was something Sherlock both anticipated and dreaded.

He anticipated them, because every time it happened he saw past the mask Joanna had around her. She let her guard down and he saw bits and pieces of her true self.

He dreaded them, because there were a few times he got caught up in her pranks.

Joanna went into her room, and a few moments later something fell to the floor with a thud. It took Sherlock a few seconds to realize that something almost furry was wandering around on the floor of the flat. It was also growling.

Sherlock _almost_ put his feet down, fascinated by the thing on the floor. However it immediately honed in on him when he tried.

He watched with open interest as Joanna picked whatever it was up and started petting it. It seemed to settle in her arms.

"What is that?" he asked, boredom definitely abated in favor of the thing.

"Pete."

"Pete?" repeated Sherlock incredulous.

She dropped 'Pete' into Sherlock's arms and it started growling again.

"You have to stroke the spine, and it has a taste for romance novels," she said by way of explanation.

It took Sherlock five minutes to figure out what the heck 'Pete' was, but his look of disbelief was totally worth it.

"A _book_?"

"Meet your new pet. It can't die, but I'm sure you'll have endless fun trying to figure out how Pete acts alive," she explained.

And with that, Sherlock's extreme boredom was gone. He was endlessly fascinated with Pete. How could a _book_ be alive?

Of course giving the eccentric man his new 'pet' also came with it's own entertainment.

"John! John! It won't stop growling at me! And it keeps biting my feet when I try to get down!" said Sherlock. He was on the couch out of biting range of Pete.

Joanna snickered, before reaching into her bag and tossing a cheap dime store romance novel that was heavy on the romance and not on the plot.

Within seconds, Pete was more interested in completely shredding the book into paper fragments than harassing the genius on the couch.

"That thing is a menace."

"How is it _my_ fault you don't bother to bribe Pete into liking you?" she said with an amused voice.

"You're doing this on purpose," Sherlock accused.

"No, if I were then I'd send another one to Mycroft as a gift without telling him what it is," said Joanna.

Sherlock opened his mouth, before an evil look came into his eyes.

"No Sherlock."

"I didn't say anything."

"We're not sending Mycroft a copy of the _Monster Book of Monsters_. Not until Christmas when we can hide it in the most awful Christmas sweater we can find that will drive him nuts if he wears it," said Joanna.

Sherlock grinned triumphantly. Yet again he had another reason to keep Joanna as a flat mate.

Only someone of the same evil mind as himself would come up with giving Mycroft an awful Christmas sweater to hide a gift that will give him headaches.

And if they were really lucky, Mummy would force Mycroft to wear it.

With the active mystery of Pete to keep the eccentric genius preoccupied between cases, peace was restored (as much as it could be with Sherlock around) in the flat.

* * *

 _A few weeks later..._

"Why on earth are we going to a karoake bar? And why are you wearing that dress?"

Joanna had become bored, and it was during one of Sherlock's many mood swings. Thus the most random things tended to happen around them both.

In this case, Joanna looking her actual gender and dragging the bored genius to a bar.

"Because I intend to have fun and something close to a social life and I don't trust you alone in the flat with only Pete to occupy you," she said deadpan.

Sherlock immediately moved to hail a cab back to Baker street.

"I also happened to overhear Donovan talking to Anderson about a discreet club that doesn't have security cameras on certain days and setting a date for when Anderson's wife is out of town again."

Sherlock's interest was now piqued. In a manner of speaking.

"And I thought you would enjoy some obvious blackmail on the two of them, particularly Anderson to force him to leave the room more often. There's no way they'd believe you were actually there if they do spot you since their tiny brains wouldn't believe you would take an actual woman on a date to a bar outside your usual haunts on the same night they're there. If they did see you they'd dismiss it because of my presence at your table and the fact we talk without you insulting me to the point I'd leave in a huff," explained Joanna.

Sherlock's dark amusement was open on his face, as was his sudden desire to join her and pretend they were on a date solely to annoy Anderson and Donovan. Now he had to join her if only for the entertainment of seeing their faces when they realized the truth.

"It's times like this I wish you weren't a discreet lesbian. You're the most interesting female I've ever associated with," said Sherlock.

If Joanna had a drink in her hand already, she'd have choked on it from laughing.

"And I wish men didn't bore me to tears to the point I decided to bat for the same team," she replied. "Though you're the longest running room mate I've ever had."

Sherlock interested her, but she wasn't willing to risk their odd friendship for a possible romance. From what she could tell Sherlock was firmly asexual, or at the very least the idea of romantic entanglement didn't enter his radar other than minor blips.

Joanna would openly admit to having fun singing on stage, even if it took a while for the two idiots to show up an hour late.

As she expected, they completely dismissed Sherlock's presence if they even saw him because of the location. Anderson did briefly meet the consulting detective's eyes for a moment, but the second he saw the female (Joanna) amicably talking to him he completely disregarded the possibility it was Sherlock.

Donovan, however, was the only one to recognize "John" enough to suspect that the man next to her was Sherlock. But her mind couldn't accept the possibility of them being there.

Joanna either didn't notice or missed Donovan taking a picture for comparison.

* * *

It was Donovan's opening remark that alerted Joanna that she would be sharing the absolutely embarrassing video of Anderson and Donovan singing a duet to Anderson's wife and their colleagues in the Yard.

"So that's why you get along so well with the Freak. I didn't know that you were into crossdressing Dr. Watson," said Donovan snidely.

Absolute silence, or as close as you could get in London. Everyone turned to look at Watson, while Sherlock waited smugly for the response.

"Actually, _Sergeant_ Donovan, I was not crossdressing in that bar you two happened to have your date in last week. I simply find that it's easier to avoid sexual harassment and annoying misunderstandings if I happened to look like a man in public."

The silence was twice as 'loud' now. Everyone's full attention was on Joanna and Sherlock.

"About the only thing most people would consider 'freakish' about me is the fact I'm an open lesbian," finished Joanna flatly in a frosty tone.

"Hold on... if you're a lesbian than that means..." started Lestrade who had been waiting for Sherlock and Watson to enter the building.

"Joanna simply hates having male flatmates who try to ask for a threesome when she brings her dates home," said Sherlock matter of fact. "Come along Joan, there's a case."

"Right you are Sherlock," said Joanna, not bothering to disguise her voice anymore.

It would be an hour before the Yard regained any equilibrium to actually do their job, which was about ten minutes after the duo left.

Donovan and Anderson soon discovered the price of irritating Joanna when Anderson's wife showed up with a copy of them singing and pictures of them at the bar looking far too handsy.

It wasn't like the department didn't know about the affair, but most generally didn't say anything.

Besides, most thought Anderson was a prick and Donovan was too annoying to deal with. She lacked a great deal of professionalism that was required to make Detective.

Like her most glaring bad habit of calling Sherlock a freak to his face in front of her superiors.

* * *

It was quite odd, having Joanna as a flatmate. After being "outed" as a woman, she started to slowly lose the layers that hid her gender.

Mostly because the public (which was quickly becoming aware of Sherlock's identity as a consulting detective thanks to Joanna's blog) were of the firm belief that they were a couple, which reduced the amount of harassment Joanna had to deal with.

Sherlock certainly didn't seem to care about acting as Joanna's "boyfriend", since the places she usually took him on 'dates' were often interesting enough to make him stay. That or her often colorful commentary.

The two either didn't care or notice Mycroft's constant observance. Or the fact that he was almost certainly reporting to "Mummy" about Sherlock possibly having a girlfriend.

* * *

Jim from IT. Or so he claimed. Sherlock thought he was gay and just stringing poor Molly along, but the moment she set eyes on the man her paranoia ramped up to a full thirteen.

She knew the man before her, but it wasn't as "Jim"...unless the bastard was trying to be cute about his 'identity'.

The mere fact he was observing Sherlock with such intensity made her skin crawl and her magic rise in a desire to rip him to shreds...and not in the proverbial sense either.

James Moriarty was a dangerous psychopath who could possibly be called a "consulting criminal". Thankfully he didn't recognize her as quickly as she had recognize him.

She had made a point to distance her 'original' persona from the one she displayed for the masses.

All of her anger, aggression and murderous intent over the crap she had to live with thanks to Dumbledore's stupidity hadn't vanished overnight. To quote a certain movie, she was a woman. She could hold a grudge forever if it so suited her.

Instead she channeled her darker side into a persona of it's own, so that it had a proper outlet when she didn't have something to ground her to everyday normal life.

It had a different appearance, a name, even a different personality.

She called her darker side "Black Iris", or to the dark underworld that hid itself in the light, the "Black Death". Because getting on her shit list was a sure fire way to end up dead and your organization in shambles.

Case in point, the Death Eaters and most of the Order of the Phoenix who had pissed her off at some point. It was because of her darker side that the unofficial Ministry was currently running things, while the 'original' simply thought it did, but really had no power at all.

Carefully cultivated plots was slowly but surely reducing the original corrupt Ministry into a joke until it dissolved into shambles of what it was.

Joanna kept a sharp, almost eagle-like gaze on Jim until he left. If he even suspected at who her other side was, he wouldn't hesitate to do something unpleasant.

As it was, simply knowing the fact he had taken an interest in her flatmate was enough for her to dig out her old wand and the purse she had made to contain a number of joke items...like Peruvian Darkness powder.

Nothing disoriented a sniper more than having a sudden curtain of darkness in an area blocking all sight. Most professionals would never shoot in such a scenario unless assured they'd hit their target.

Especially if they worked for Moriarty.


	5. Chapter 5

Joanna wasn't mad about the bombs on her chest. Oh no, she was positively _livid_ with fury.

Death threats she could handle. She practically lived with them for years before she changed her name.

However being forced to play the damsel in distress to lure her flatmate to his possible doom? That pissed her off.

If she had her other phone on her (she had left it in the house to avoid tipping off the insane moron who put bombs on her) she would have sent a world-wide alert that someone who fit Moriarty's description had officially entered her shit list of people that would soon be dead.

The more he angered her, the more severe her retribution would become until there was nothing left.

Right now he was on the lower tier of that list. Just enough that she wouldn't hesitate to end him if she had the chance. The more he angered her, the higher the priority of his death would become.

Most of her "list" were currently six feet under, with one or two extreme glaring exceptions.

Joanna was fuming, but her irritation was slowly drained when she heard _honest_ concern about her health from Sherlock. The look of actual interest in her personal welfare, despite his apathy to everything else spoke volumes of his level of interest in her as a person.

When she had the chance, she grabbed Moriarty with one arm and her other hand was in her expanded pocket grabbing a decent handful of Peruvian darkness powder.

"Any last words, Dr. Watson?" said Moriarty in a far too calm and cheerful manner.

"Yes. So long and thanks for all the fish," she deadpanned, before she unleashed the powder.

Thanks to her rather quick reflexes, she was able to hit the bastard with a switching charm (thus putting the bombs on him instead) at the same time she tackled Sherlock and side-along apparated them straight to her clinic in the span of six seconds.

* * *

It would take Sherlock a grand total of fifteen minutes before he finally asked the question that bugged him more than the overt use of magic. (Odds are he had guessed Joanna was a witch by this point, but she rarely used magic at home.)

"Why did you say 'So long and thanks for all the fish'?"

"I was quoting a movie. Seemed appropriate and odd enough that it would drive him possibly sane trying to figure out the hidden message," she explained.

"Drive him sane?"

"He's a psychotic bastard who thought I'd let him get away with groping me with the pretense of putting bombs on me. I _hate_ being the damsel in distress," scowled Joanna. "He's insane enough that the only way to go is sanity."

"You are alright aren't you?" asked Sherlock with actual concern.

"Just furious and hoping he sends more people after us so I have an excuse to shoot someone," Joanna assured him.

Hearing her declaration of murderous intent (something she normally only spoke of after an encounter with Donovan or Anderson on a bad day...or that time of the month) Sherlock relaxed knowing his doctor was alright. She only got that way when she was more angry than injured.

The one and only time she came down with something, it had taken the combined efforts of Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade to get her to rest in bed until her flu had passed. Sherlock was the _only_ person to know that her defenses were increased, rather than let down during the entire week she had been sick.

He was also the only person who knew that Joanna was a chronic insomniac. Two nights out of the week she would have nightmares that kept her from a sound sleep, to which she would spend the entire night playing either games or reading with her headphones on.

The only reason he knew that was because after he realized her bad habit, he managed to drag her into the living room where his own inability to sleep had him playing the violin until five in the morning.

The odd companionship the two had during that time had only made their friendship stronger, as strange as it was. Joanna actually had a preference for classical music, and sometimes played music that complemented whatever Sherlock was playing at the moment.

Sherlock also didn't really pay much attention to her late-night hacking sessions.

More than one time she left a lewd and horrifying picture on the desktop of Anderson or Donovan for them to find in the morning...or left random things for Lestrade to find on his computer.

They still had yet to figure out who the culprit was.

* * *

There was a positive upswing of cases after the incident with Moriarty.

One of which was an odd broadcast for exactly twenty seconds on every screen with Moriarty's face along with a single black iris inside a black circle in the UK.

Mycroft had been most put out with that (as much as he got) and had actually dragged himself to Baker street to question his brother on whether he had hired a hacker to place the recognizable sign of someone who had attracted the ire of the Black Iris to the point she made it known someone would end up dead in short order.

As the last high-profile person to be kidnapped, Joanna was questioned thoroughly. Outside of mentioning a vague reference to there being a "Iris" in her club that she went to at least three times a month, Mycroft left without any definitive clue as to why the infamous Iris had targeted the madman.

Sherlock, on the other hand, looked at his flatmate with knowing eyes and increased interest.

Joanna had looked particularly vindictive the night before that picture went out.

Even he had heard of the Black Iris, but he had never been openly interested in the woman. Outside of a few token (if very, very high profile appearances) she wasn't really of note. About the only reason Sherlock even bothered to remember her profile was the fact that _no one_ had ever gotten a definitive idea of what she looked like, how old she was or what her victims did to get on her bad side to the point she completely annihilated them so thoroughly that nothing could rise from the ashes of what she left behind.

When she wanted to destroy someone, she left nothing behind unless it was a child well under the age of eleven.

Considering most of the people she went after employed boarding schools to keep their children safe from their criminal activities, it was never an actual issue. Outside of the one time she left behind a survivor too young to ID her.

After Mycroft's visit he immediately went over what little he knew of his flatmate in an effort to figure out what sort of possible connection Joanna had with the infamous Black Iris.

The fact he was coming up short did not make Sherlock happy, as he could tell Joanna had been half-lying to Mycroft about an Iris in her club.

There was an Iris in her club, but it wasn't the one Mycroft actually wanted to interrogate.

Displeased with his lack of information, Sherlock decided to do something he never would have prior to the incident.

He opted to join Joanna in her club visits. She had left an open invitation to join her after all.

Joanna's "club" was in fact a discreet gathering of first generation and half-blooded magicals who made a point to have regular meetings to share spells, potion recipes and just chat.

Outside of a brief introduction, the fact that Sherlock was at the club didn't really warrant any interest or surprise. It was common for members to bring in new people to the meetings.

Well, outside of Joanna's friends voicing their amusement she had finally dragged her flatmate to visit.

Sherlock actually found himself relaxing in the cheerful atmosphere. Some people were openly amused by his blunt deductions, rather than the offended looks he usually got. It was...nice.

"So I heard the Black Iris had made another death mark recently," said Mrs. Jones.

"Oh yes. He was quite rude from what I heard. He actually had the audacity to grope her while holding her at gunpoint and put actual _bombs_ on her chest!" said Joanna with a straight face.

Sherlock's interest jumped at that. So the Black Iris was one of the victims of Moriarty's bomb scheme?

"Surely that couldn't have angered her that much to post his face and her calling card on every screen in Europe," said Clara Oswald, Joanna's ex-girlfriend.

"Normally not, but he also made her a damsel in distress. You know she loathes that."

"I bet. Then again she is a Black. Being made to feel weak is one thing that's guaranteed to rile them up," said Clara dryly.

Sherlock felt like kicking himself.

Black Iris was obviously her real name flipped backwards.

Iris Potter-Black had been missing for years, and if anyone could commit a near untraceable crime and hide their identity, it would be the missing girl-who-lived. Or woman-who-survived, as her current ridiculous hyphenated name went.

After the minor war, the woman had vanished off the face of the earth.

Sherlock was successfully preoccupied trying to discover the identity of the Black Iris.

So much so that he started _mingling_ with the others, all of whom were openly amused at his attempts to discern how they all knew who the Black Iris was.

Once he was far enough that not even his hearing could detect it (the cameras were always disabled for the meeting) Clara turned to an amused Joanna.

"He has no idea, does he?"

"For someone so wonderfully observant and intelligent, he can be surprisingly dim about the obvious. He also hasn't figured out that I haven't been dating another woman for well over two months since I moved in with him," said Joanna with mirth.

Clara hid her smirk. It wouldn't do for Sherlock to figure out the truth just yet. Not when Joanna was clearly having a great deal of fun at his expense without telling him why.

"It looks like the infamous Joanna has finally found a man that won't 'bore her to tears'," she said with laughter in her voice.

Joanna was infamous among their circles for her disdain of men. Especially those that thought the word "lesbian" was an open invitation for a threesome with an adventurous pair of girls. She was particularly well known for ripping such fools apart within moments of their stupidity becoming known.

She wondered if Mycroft had picked up on this fact.

Either way she considered the entire night a smashing success...in that Sherlock had yet to annoy any of her friends to the point he was hexed black and blue.

* * *

"Explain why there is a new DVD player attached to our equally new TV," said Sherlock crossly. He hated TV...it dulled the brain. So the presence of the TV and disc player irked him something fierce.

"I have here a series even _you_ would agree with," said Joanna. In her hand was a DVD series. The title was scrawled on the case in red.

It was called " _Scorpion"._

Out of the series she thought he might appreciate the main character's thought processes. It was either that or _Big Bang Theory_ , and she thought the second was a bit too main stream to corrupt Sherlock with pop culture.

Sherlock was rather bored and cross with Joanna for infecting his room with the devices, and only sat down to watch out of protest.

After the first disc he was somewhat less cross, but still confused why Joanna had done this.

Then the motive became so obvious he kicked himself for missing it a week later.

She was determined to get him addicted to _Doctor Who_ , her favorite series on the telly.

It was either that or force him to watch soaps with Mrs. Hudson during his periods of boredom. That would drive Sherlock absolutely batty, so he acquiesced to Joanna's idea of relaxing.

Of course that didn't count the amusing expression Mycroft had when he saw the TARDIS blanket Sherlock was wrapped up in while watching the series.

Clearly Dr. Watson knew _exactly_ how to handle someone like Sherlock. Which certainly made Mummy happy, as it meant there was a high probability that the two would end up together as a couple.

Thanks to the blog, Sherlock had a steady stream of clients asking for help. Her writing skills weren't top notch (according to Sherlock anyway) but the interest was still strong because she could put the cases in a way that got people interested.

The fact several of the titles were borrowed from the old stories was just icing on the cake.

Sherlock had not been overly amused when Joanna bought the complete set and gave it to Lestrade as a joke.

She almost gave it to Anderson, but frankly she hated him too much to consider giving him _anything_ save snide comments.

(Lestrade had figured out that it was Watson leaving the horrifying pictures on the computers belonging to Anderson and Donovan...and the random things that made his day weeks ago. Well, more like she hinted at it in the cover of the book on a post-it note.)

Though he was downright irritated when she kept the deerstalker hat and even gave him a pipe that fit the general description of the one in the books complete with a fresh tobacco pack.


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you really wearing nothing but a bed sheet in Buckingham Palace?" said Joanna in horrified fascination.

Sherlock looked absolutely smug about the whole affair. This was sure to annoy his brother something fierce.

Joanna couldn't resist taking a picture to remember the occasion later. And sending an incredulous text to Lestrade over the latest lunacy of Sherlock...if only to spread the misery.

Lestrade was quick to share his incredulous shock at Sherlock's behavior once he realized what he was seeing.

Every once in a while, the man did something that made those that were 'close' to him sigh in exasperation.

Of course seeing Sherlock threaten to leave with nothing but the bed sheet past all the tourists had Joanna do something she did rarely.

She started laughing, because that was something she would have expected of him.

Mycroft noted with a hidden sense of pleasure and triumph when he noticed his brother's instant attention to the woman's laughter at his behavior, and how he paid more attention to her than the case.

Obviously Sherlock held more interest in Joanna Watson than he'd admit to. At least at this point in time. Perhaps in a few months or more dangerous cases he'd be able to admit it to himself that he liked her as a female.

Once Sherlock got dressed and was more or less behaving, Mycroft got to the crux of the matter.

The second Joanna heard the name Irene Adler and the nickname of "The Woman", her face went so flat it could have been carved from stone.

Sherlock noticed his companion's immediate change of behavior, but said nothing in the presence of his brother. Mycroft had no idea this was an uncharacteristic silence and subtle fury from Joanna.

* * *

The moment they were out of the cab and out of view from any cameras, Sherlock confronted Joanna.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong? Adler is what's wrong!" said Joanna fuming.

Sherlock looked at her baffled and with no idea what to do to calm her.

"You've never bothered to read the books, but I know what's going to happen. The moment you try to outwit the woman, you're going to be in her web. She'll tug you around with a thin string and you'll be too blind to realize what's happening until she's betrayed you."

Sherlock stood there silently in disbelief.

"Explain."

"In the books, the _only_ woman who could ever get the better of Holmes was a crook by the name of Irene Adler. She would always toy with him, use him and then betray him. And he always, _always_ came back for more. She _fascinated_ him because she could outwit him," said Joanna in disgust.

Holmes said nothing, but the silence was staggering.

"Is there any chance you're wrong?"

Joanna's expression was downright vicious and full of anger.

"I bet you fifty pounds that when we go there that she walks into the room wearing absolutely nothing purely throw you off," said Joanna flatly.

Sherlock blinked repeatedly.

"Fifty pounds, you say?"

"Fifty pounds she comes into the room completely starkers and then shortly after everything goes to hell in a hand basket because of these supposed pictures," said Joanna.

Sherlock thought that over.

"Fine. You have a bet."

"And if I'm right, then you let _me_ handle Irene or anything she gives you," said Joanna.

"If you're wrong?"

"If I'm just being paranoid and it's not just my knowledge of the old stories coming to life, then I'll give you a tip on how to find the Black Iris in order to pick her brain."

"How do you even know the assassin anyway?"

"Long story short, she was heavily involved in the final days of the recent Blood War between Riddle and Dumbledore. The club I go to was a major part in ending it permanently, even if neither side was happy how we did it. She gave those she worked with frequently a way to contact her for help after," said Joanna.

Sherlock accepted the bet. Black Iris fascinated him because of how thorough she was and the lack of any definitive information on her.

Even Mycroft had no idea who she was. Which spoke volumes of how good she was at hiding.

* * *

 _In the house..._

Sherlock looked at the completely naked Irene Adler, mentally counted to ten, before silently admitting Joanna had been completely right. He also mentally acknowledged he now owed Joanna fifty pounds because she knew _exactly_ what was about to happen long before the signs were even there.

She had known Adler was in deep with something dangerous, and that she would through him off the moment they met.

Considering the woman dosed him with something unpleasant, Sherlock realized he liked Joanna's methods far more than Irene's.

Joanna pushed his ability to handle, but made a point never to go past what Sherlock could cope with. She pushed his buttons, but not once did she use him like Adler did with the Americans.

Which was why shortly after Irene disappeared, Sherlock broke down and read the 'classic fiction' based off an old Scotland Yard detective and his arch nemesis.

The parallels between him and the fictional detective were almost terrifying.

"What do you know about the Black Iris?" asked Sherlock, trying to put The Woman out of his mind.

Joanna was right.

Sherlock might be arrogant, condescending and uncomfortable around the idea of personal relationships...but he was not an idiot. Joanna clearly had her guard against Irene before she even had meet the woman or see her lack of attire.

Joanna had seen Irene and dismissed her nudity as uncomfortable and looked more bored than anything.

As an open lesbian and a woman who hadn't had a date in three months, Sherlock would have thought Joanna would have had more interest.

Instead she didn't. She was dismissive of Irene's nudity and openly defensive in a subtle unspoken way around what Irene said.

Characteristic of a doctor who knew damn well a patient intended to lie their ass off or keep silent about their actual condition...and they had to read between the lines and look for the subtle signals to find out the truth.

Joanna, unlike the Yard, was very, very good at observing people on a more personal level. Sherlock could read their lives by the signs people missed...she could read what they were like and their personality using the same methods.

It was part of why the two of them clicked so well.

* * *

 _Joanna's POV..._

Sitting in a perfectly normal cafe, Joanna drank her Chai tea calmly while waiting for her contact.

Something was going on involving dead bodies, and she wanted to know what. Even a gist of it would be enough.

This particular cafe wasn't a normal one. In fact it was as far from normal as one could get.

This was a magical cafe that offered private tables that had a perfect cone of silence and rendered all digital methods useless via a powerful magnet under the table.

Thanks to the spells, the effect didn't last past the table. The magnet was secured in a special box so one could use it or shield the table from the effects.

It was a bit expensive, but the price of privacy and the assurance that no one could over hear was something that some would consider worth it.

Like those having delicate discussions or sharing secrets best not aired in public.

Joanna didn't look up or to her contact.

"Alright, you have my attention. What's so important that we had to meet here?"

"Dead bodies going missing. A body found inside a trunk that by all rights should have been on a plane to another country, right down to the crackers served in the plane found here. A woman's ashes being replaced. The Woman having documents on her phone that she claims keep her protected, but had her targeted by Americans," Joanna summed up without hesitation.

There was a pause, before the contact cursed.

"Bloody Holmes. From that I can tell the elder didn't clue the younger in to avoid having him accidentally blowing it open."

"I had a feeling he was involved, but it's nice to be confirmed. Americans?"

"Joint operation. Very discreet. Member of MOD compromised, partial e-mail photographed, enough to ruin it."

"Bloody spies. No offense."

"Not a problem. Action?"

"Warn Elder that he had better be upfront next time or I'll start sending stripper grams to his bloody doorstep to piss him off. Gay stripper grams."

Her contact choked back a laugh.

"Want something to annoy the one who refuses to return your cars in usable condition?"

"Yes please."

Joanna snorted, handing her contact a box she had put together to annoy the secret agents that he worked with.

"Lovely to see you as always, Joan," said Q.

"Happy to help, Q. Have fun tormenting the baby spies," said Joanna snickering.

The old books about James Bond weren't _entirely_ full of it. However after the books came out (and the many, many movies) the title of "007" had been firmly and permanently shelved unless they weren't an active agent in the first place. Anyone with that designation was either laughed at or felt they had to live up to the fictional agent.

It was a hassle to reassign the cover identities.

Joanna knew Q partly because he had been the one to contact the American Magical NRA for them to supply the anti-magic bullets...and the guns to shoot them with, among other things.

MI6 allowed it mostly because Voldemort kept blowing their operations and deep cover agents or killing them outright, but they didn't have enough magicals on staff to deal with them.

Or to be more precise, none high enough to get away with going rogue long enough to take the idiots out.

Supplying a private group of people who had enough and helping them avoid being arrested for cleaning up the mess by the pure bloods was a nice compromise...and got the agency on the Queen's good side. The fact that the majority of the guns and ammunition were returned save for those who had permission to carry them already was something in their favor.

Joanna had been one of the few who remained in contact with Q and kept the weapons, with the agency's blessing.

"I still say Connery was better," said Joanna. Q snorted before he left and she finished her tea before doing the same.

And the Holmes boys thought she was just a retired veteran after a particularly unpleasant experience in the service.

It was fun to tweak their noses with tidbits of the actual truth.

Speaking of, she had a text to make.

* * *

As expected, Mycroft didn't text her back with the answer. Less than five minutes later, a car pulled up with his assistant inside...along with several others with guns.

Mycroft did not look pleased with her.

"How do you know about 007?" he asked bluntly.

"Q clued me in," she replied. That, and her unofficial designation _in_ MI6 was 007.

Her profile said she was in the army for several years after Barts, but she had been recruited early on in her career and given the designation because she wasn't likely to try and 'live up' to the infamous secret agent.

It was because of MI6 that her magical education had been 'completed' (or as close as one could get) in the first place.

Mycroft apparently thought she was trying to be funny, because she could see his anger and hostility in his face.

"No seriously, he clued me in that it was one of your operations. For a man Sherlock claims is the British government, you certainly don't do thorough background checks. Either that or they were particularly clever hiding what I do off the books," said Joanna with a drawl.

It took him almost a full minute longer than she would have guessed before he caught on. She expected him to figure it out quicker than that.

Then again her Joanna Watson persona was a very thorough cover. Not even Sherlock had seen through it and he lived with her.

"You have contacts in MI6."

Joanna had a smug grin.

"Sure, let's go with that theory. Frankly I'm surprised you didn't find out sooner. Who did you think tracked down one of their operatives in the city in order to use their connections for weapons in order to deal with the nuisance that was Tom Riddle and Dumbledore? Our group borrowed guns and got enough anti-magic ammunition to deal with both parties, and left them to clean up the mess they created. I just...kept in touch," said Joanna cryptically.

Joanna was an off-the-books medical assistance for operatives in the know. If they wanted to have an operative healed on the sly without alerting the enemy they were after, they had Joanna to go in and fix them up in short order.

They paid her on a dummy account that disappeared once she wired it to several other accounts and laundered it on online poker until it slowly appeared in her actual one.

Quite a few times Sherlock had completely glossed over her playing online poker or other games, aside from noting her absurd luck at them.

Mycroft clearly didn't know whether to be annoyed or paranoid.

"Why are you living with my brother if you can easily afford living on your own?"

"Sherlock fascinates me, and I hate living alone. Besides, buying a home is a waste of time," said Joanna flatly.

People would look askance at a woman her age living alone, and she despised living in a big house with no one to talk to. However a flat share on an 'army pension' was perfectly reasonable and her job as a doctor with odd hours was the best cover. That and Sherlock took her on the most fascinating cases all the time. She enjoyed seeing his mind work.

"What are you intentions towards my brother?" asked Mycroft.

"Aside from keeping his frustrating and annoying ass alive during his cases and trying not to kill him for irritating me during that time of the month?" she said deadpan. She sighed. "All you need to know is that if I get my hands on Adler's phone, I'll be scrambling or hiding the information she has so that she can't compromise whatever it is you're trying to pull any further. As much as you annoy me, the last thing I want to see is Adler using your brother in her games."

"You dislike Ms. Adler?"

"I dislike the fact she's obviously manipulating Sherlock and trying to pin all the blame on him for her games. I wouldn't be surprised if she's in league even remotely with Moriarty," said Joanna flatly.

Mycroft took it for what it was. Joanna offering to protect his brother from himself and the manipulations of a woman who knew exactly how to twist men around her little finger.

However odds were he'd really look into Joanna's past a lot harder now that he knew that he had missed something so critical like the fact she was an off-the-books medic for MI6 with a close tie to a group that dealt with the Death Eaters and the few "light" magicals who caused more trouble than they were worth.

People like Albus Dumbledore, found dead with a bullet to the brain and his wand confiscated. There was also signs that someone had pissed on his dead body before washing off the evidence of DNA to the point it would take a miracle to find who did it.


	7. Chapter 7

"You've certainly set my brother in a huff," said Sherlock mere hours after she was hijacked by him.

"He didn't like the fact I was clued in to his little operation which we've been bumping into. You know the cases you declared boring and set people away involving the dead?"

Sherlock blinked, before a pained expression came onto his face.

"The mystery passenger who wound up in the trunk?" he asked.

"Apparently Mycroft is up to something with the Americans and The Woman caught wind of it. Odds are she's trying to use you to find out what," clarified Joanna.

And with that, all interest in the matter dropped for Sherlock. If Mycroft was involved, then it wasn't an interesting mystery at all. Then Sherlock turned to look at his roommate.

"How did you find out?"

"Long story short I asked a contact in MI6 if they knew of any operation fitting the gist of what we had discovered and he told me there was one," said Joanna. She grinned. "Mycroft was most put off with me because he thought he had the measure of my past only to find out I was much more interesting than he assumed."

Sherlock smirked at her.

Anything that annoyed his brother was good in his book. Especially if it was just someone finding out one of his dirty little secrets when he was trying so valiantly to hide it.

To be fair, if he hadn't dragged them in to deal with The Woman, they never would have bothered asking the right questions or people.

So...it was all his fault.

* * *

Sherlock observed Joanna's body language when they found Irene Adler in his bed several months later.

She wasn't angry. Oh no, her expression was beyond angry.

She was _furious_. Possibly murderous.

Sherlock briefly wondered if he should offer to help hide the body, save for the fact that Irene had made a point to fake her death and make sure Sherlock knew of it. He had been devastated at losing a potentially interesting opponent...only for her to appear perfectly hale and hearty.

On second thought, she deserved everything Joanna planned to do to her for the way she played him.

He didn't _do_ normal emotions. He found them boring. And Joanna, for her strange and bizarre quirks, was highly protective of those she cared for, even to suicidal levels.

This fact was painfully obvious when Sherlock saw the 'code' Irene wanted him to decrypt for her.

One look at it and he knew what it was.

Joanna made him watch different series that she had hoped wouldn't bore him to tears. After Christmas they started watching a series called " _Numb3rs"_.

This particular bit of code happened to be from one of the episodes in the first season, where an irate train worker tried to make a point using past crashes.

Sherlock felt amused, despite the way Joanna selected the shows they watched. She tried to keep it relatively intelligent, but that it included pop culture references that she could trick him into quoting later to Lestrade to see his face.

"It's a driver's license. American, to be exact," said Sherlock three seconds later. He could feel Joanna's smirk without having to see it. She knew he recognized the numbers and letters.

Sherlock also saw Irene texting behind her back, and knew if Joanna hadn't done something he would have been played. Like an idiot. And that irritated him.

* * *

Mycroft felt a brief moment of panic when he was informed that someone involved with Bond plane had been identified...right up until Joanna cheekily texted him.

 _Joanna- You're welcome._

Then Mycroft got the rest of the news. The 'compromised' person was American, or at least according to Sherlock it was.

He distinctly remembered Joanna saying she would hide or corrupt the data so that anyone who saw it would be lead on the wrong path. So he sent a text to her half an hour later.

 _Mycroft- Your work I presume?_

 _Joanna- Watching_ Numb3rs _with Sherlock. Used the driver's license number from first season with the trains to throw off Adler. By the time they figure out the trick, whatever it is you're up to will be over._

 _Mycroft- To what do I owe you for the duplicity?_

 _Joanna- Let's just say you owe me one._

 _Mycroft- Why did you nearly kill the Americans that broke into the flat? From your...files... I would have assumed such a thing was more of a nuisance._

 _Joanna- They_ hurt _Mrs. Hudson. If they had just scared her and locked her in her flat with the phone cut off and a signal jammer, I would have been irritated, but they actually beat her. And that is unforgivable._

With that message, Joanna went silent.

Mycroft was torn. On one hand, Joanna was a boon to the sort of work he did to keep the Empire safe and she was clearly interested in his brother as a potential romantic partner...if Sherlock ever learned to behave normally.

Even if she was an off-the-record holder of the infamous 007 designation in MI6. When he had asked around his contacts (tea with M) he had been given the _actual_ file of Joanna H. Watson. Or at least the one they kept.

She had far too many secrets for him to like. He had dismissed her presence after discovering her participation in the group of first generation magicals who put a permanent end to the idiots troubling the country and the few light side idiots who were all too willing to allow it to get to that point by turning a blind eye. Just when he thought he had the measure of her, she does something like this that reveals he barely knows her at all.

And he didn't like it. Especially when the person was so closely involved with his brother.

The thing that bothered him most was that all of her records started at age fifteen, before September first. He knew she had previously endured some Hogwarts training, but shortly before what would have been her fifth year she had changed her name. By all accounts she was a muggleborn who had gotten tired of the bigotry and opted to work for Queen and Country on the sly.

The more pressing matter at hand, though, was the fact he had to pretend that Irene had the country in the palm of her hand with the false information. At least until the plane served it's purpose.

It was days like these he added an extra bit of liquor to his evening meal.

* * *

Irene Adler didn't think of John Watson as a threat. Not at first. So when Sherlock left the room leaving her with the unassuming Doctor, she thought nothing of it.

That was before the good doctor's eyes changed to green and the very air around her changed to something quite a bit more dangerous.

"So. You thought that you could play Sherlock for a fool and I would let you hurt him. Just. Like. That. You enjoy playing men so much that you've forgotten something important."

"And what's that?" asked Irene, her mouth almost dry.

"You've forgotten that you're not the only one who can play men," said Joanna, smiling with all her teeth showing. "Now I might be a lesbian, but you're so far beneath my league that it's sad. Especially with those gray hairs of yours."

It took a few moments for that to process...but when it did, her face almost went back to normal.

Except there were Joanna's eyes. Those vibrant, almost fury-laced green eyes that seemed to peer right into her soul and say that she was treading on ice so thin that she was almost guaranteed to drop at any second.

Dr. Watson didn't like her, didn't trust her one bit, and was clearly acting like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Sherlock knew something was different about his flatmate, but had only scratched the surface.

This was an alpha predator and Irene had just stepped into her hunting ground...and it was in the mood to kill.

"And what are you going to do, Dr. Watson?" she asked, trying to bluff her way past this predator.

"Me? Who said _I_ was going to do anything? I'm sure there are a number of people who know of me who would be happy to deal with you in a more...permanent...fashion. People even your friend Moriarty would employ after a fashion to deal with nuisances who trespassed on his territory."

"What gave me away?" asked Irene. She had to know where she slipped up.

If there ever was a next time, that is.

"I knew something like this would happen the moment I heard your name and the nickname you gave yourself. The Woman."

"My name?"

"I happen to be a fan of the classics. And there is one woman who always stands out as the equal of Sherlock Holmes. A con artist by the name Irene Adler, or as the detective in Doyle's stories called her, 'The Woman'. The one female that ever interested him as an equal," clarified Joanna.

"A coincidence."

"There are no coincidences, only fate," quoted Joanna. "Besides, if there is a consulting criminal by the name of Moriarty out there, waiting to pit his worst against a consulting detective named Sherlock Holmes, then it stands to reason that there would just happen to be a conniving woman named Irene Adler waiting to twist the detective around her little finger."

Irene couldn't believe she had been found out by something as banal as her _name_. She didn't really pay attention to the classics, and she was shocked Dr. Watson had deduced she would be playing Sherlock purely on the most benign of coincidences.

Never in her life would she have believed that an entire scam would be undone because of a retired army doctor who liked to read and happened to catch a strange connection to an old detective's book.

Irene left, with her phone, or at least a perfect copy of it.

It wouldn't be until later she found out Dr. Watson had brought the real one to Mycroft Holmes personally...unlocked.

It hadn't taken but two seconds to realize the password needed to unlock it and not let it blow up.

Like Dr. Watson said... there is no such thing as coincidence, only fate.

* * *

"...Did you really just quote that odd cartoon series you forced me to watch two weeks ago?" asked Sherlock.

"Shut up Sherlock, or I'll hide your skull," said Joanna.

Sherlock sulked. The only reason he hadn't automatically deleted that quote from his memory was because it was interesting. Though he still didn't see the appeal of _XXXHolic_ or any of the other animated series Joanna watched out of boredom.

At least she wasn't cruel enough to force him into watching _Sailor Moon_ or something equally stupid.

* * *

Joanna was in a discrete outdoor cafe again. She made no reaction to the man who walked past her table, or the envelope he left on his own. She made the pretense of returning it to him as she had already finished lunch.

Once she was out of the camera range, she passed by an outdoor post. She put a stamp on it and put it into the post box, before walking away.

She didn't take out what was in the envelope until she was at work in her office.

Because of her skill, she was awarded one of the few private offices in the clinic.

"Bloody security checks," she muttered under her breath. She removed the badge and replaced the one in her wallet before destroying the old one.

She had to replace the thing every three months to re-confirm her security clearance, discreetly of course. Well that and to confirm she still worked for the good of the Empire.

She was lucky...the active agents had to re-confirm their badges twice a month, or more depending on the assignment.

She wondered how Mycroft would react if he knew her security clearance was as high as his own.

 _Back in the flat..._

Joanna was watching a random series between cases, when she saw something that had her sit up with unholy glee at the thought of a similar prank she could inflict on Mycroft.

Sherlock eyed her warily.

"What are you planning?"

She showed him the episode she was watching.

"Dull."

"Not that. Look at the duck. Imagine a stuffed bee or something similar following Mycroft around in private and calling him Daddy or acting like some chipper five-year-old determined to spend time with him. One that could record his disgusted expressions for us to enjoy later."

Sherlock thought that over and smirked.

"We could add it to the gift we gave him during Christmas."

Joanna had found the most garish and downright _tacky_ Christmas jumper to wrap their...gift...in. Thanks to a minor spell, they were able to get a good picture of Mycroft's face when he realized what was eating the paperwork on his desk...and the jumper it was wrapped in.

Sherlock had been in such a good mood he barely insulted Lestrade's ability to solve crimes and was actually _nice_ to Molly.

Of course it had taken hours for Mycroft to finally get in touch with Joanna to find out how to keep the blasted thing from eating his paperwork. She had been far too amused and sounded entirely too chipper for his taste when she told him how to calm the _Monster Book of Monsters_ down long enough to shove it into a tightly packed bookshelf.

She still cracked up at the pained expression he had after she disappparated with a cackle when she informed him he simply needed to stroke the spine to calm it down.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry about the delay in updates folks! Stupid computer wouldn't read my hard drive... So without further ado...MASS UPDATES!**

* * *

"I need it."

"No."

"Please!"

"No."

"I demand..."

"Sherlock I will dye your hair pink and duck tape you to the ceiling and send multiple pictures to Anderson and Donovan."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"I _need_ a cigarette!"

"For the love of interesting cases, Sherlock, shut the hell up!"

Sherlock sulked. Pete, oddly enough, 'nuzzled' Sherlock with sympathy. He tossed their 'pet' a cheap romance novel Joan kept in the flat for the thing.

"It's your own fault you know. You bet that you could go cold turkey on your cigs and even paid the local tenders to not sell to you."

Sherlock's sulking got worse. He was suffering from tobacco withdrawals.

"You could admit defeat here and now. I don't know why you even made that silly bet with Lestrade in the first place."

"Give me something. Anything."

"For your addiction or your boredom?"

"Both. Either."

"Sherlock, if you're going to be a child then go take a walk," said Joanna, not looking up from her computer.

"What are you doing?"

"Hm. Hacking for MI6. Their usual idiots are all either sick or under evaluation again. They sent me a tidy sum to keep their agents alive."

"I can't believe you were able to hide that you're MI6 from me."

"To be fair, not even Mycroft caught it until Adler got on my nerves. You'd be surprised how useful off-the-books agents are. Discreet and we don't really read as agents in the first place."

Perfect for quick undercover work. People like Joanna walked in and the bad guys all thought that they had stumbled into something they shouldn't, only to find the entirety of the royal marines on their arse.

Or in Joanna's case, they had a run in with the Black Iris and ended up dead after she interrogated them for hours.

"I'm bored."

"Sherlock I swear to magic I will force you to endure boring pop culture references for a week if you don't shut up!"

Finally the bored genius couldn't take it anymore. He walked out and went looking for something to kill time until something interesting came up.

He came back several hours later covered in blood with a harpoon in his hand.

Joanna took a picture, sent it to Lestrade (who kept it in his copy for Sherlock-related insanity...he had quite a few he shared with her when she agreed to keep track of it) and ignored him.

She finished her minor job and grabbed the paper. Sherlock was driving her absolutely batty with his eccentricities.

He went looking for his secret stash, unaware she hid them on the ceiling while he was out, under a spell.

Be funny to see his look when she commented on him being so...obvious.

However she put a stop to it when Sherlock upset Mrs. Hudson.

"What the bloody hell was that about?"

"You don't understand."

"Go after her and apologize or I won't tell give you a mystery to take your mind off the bet."

Sherlock glared at her.

"I need a case!"

"You solved one, with a harpoon and a dead pig apparently!"

"Well either we find a case or I'll break out Cluedo again!"

"Bloody hell you will! I'd sooner challenge you to Wizard's chess than play Cluedo against you again! To say nothing of other mystery games!"

"...You play chess?"

"Wizard's chess. I have a set upstairs," said Joanna irritably. "As well as Go, Shogi and mahjong."

Sherlock was half a second from demanding a game when the doorbell rang.

Joanna had a feeling it was going to be one of _those_ cases.

* * *

 _A few hours later..._

A discreet check on the internet revealed that it wasn't a werewolf attack that had traumatized the poor man. The moon had been waning, not full. From the description it sounded like a large dog, or to the uneducated person, possibly a wolf.

Except Joanna knew full well that there were no wolves in England. At least, none that weren't indirectly tied to the werewolf packs. Most wolf packs had gone under the protection of the werewolves to avoid the hunters, or had integrated themselves into their homes as 'pets'. Most packs had established territory that stayed 'in the family', and she had a list of the areas to avoid during full moons.

Dartmoor was not on that list.

"Don't mind him, he's a bit cranky lately," said Joanna absentmindedly.

"Would you mind driving Joan?"

"Of course," she replied. Finally, something to shut him up for a while.

"Bit odd innit?"

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"The word he used. Hound is a bit archaic for today's language."

"So you did pick it up. I agree."

"Could be an acronym he remembered, not even realizing it."

"Another one of your odd similarities Joan?"

"The Hound of the Baskervilles is one of the more well remembered titles in the series. Been a while since I've read it though. So how are you planning to get into Baskerville?"

Sherlock brandished a very important looking badge.

"Swiped it off of Mycroft did you?"

"Of course I did."

"Or we could do the smart thing and not have to listen to him bitch about you stealing his badge and use mine."

"What?"

Joanna reached into her pocket and brandished her own.

"Off the record MI6, remember? My clearance is the same as his, I just don't use it."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I suppose I could say it's a joint operation, so long as they scan my card first."

Sherlock found she wasn't joking, as they waved them on through once they swiped her card.

"How is it that someone who doesn't work officially for MI6 has that high a clearance?"

"It's a long story, one best used to distract you with later," she replied without hesitation.

"What do you actually _do_ for MI6?"

"Mostly I take up the Double Oh-Seven call sign, even if they use another one. They send me into dangerous zones where I heal up any idiots who got hurt, hack into things their people can't, and occasionally I get an assignment after I've already taken it."

Translation: I patch up the amateurs, perform high level hacks, and assassinate people only to get permission after the fact.

And she did it all without once falling into the trap the last bunch of idiots who took up the 007 call sign did upon receiving it.

Ever since they published that blasted series any male who took up the call sign tried to emulate the famous secret agent and would always get laughed out of the "official" circles of similar agencies when they found out their call sign.

Hence why they did the smart thing after the tenth such fool and assigned it only to high ranking female agents. Joanna was just the first who happened to be a bisexual who leaned towards females on top of it, and she was always picky about her partners. And why she was equally quick to arrange a second call sign for when she had to do official work after the fact.

There was more than one reason she took up the call sign "Black Iris", and it had nothing to do with her name or heritage. Even if she only acted _after_ some poor bastard pissed her off enough.

Sherlock pouted, even as he pretended to be Mycroft to get away with entering the facility.

They might have swiped Joan's card first, but he still needed a fake ID to enter. As the master of coming up with bullshit lies that people could believe, their "official" reason for being there was an inspection to see if the testing facility had anything useful MI6 could borrow in a mission that was to happen soon.

Perfectly reasonable and not really something the general in charge of the place could throw them out for.

Even if they did have to make themselves scarce because of...well, it was Sherlock. The man had an uncanny knack for pissing off anyone in authority just because.

* * *

Sherlock practically cornered his flatmate with a look in their shared room.

"Details. Now."

Joanna rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Remember how I kept hinting I knew who Black Iris was?"

Sherlock looked at her with such intensity she got shivers. Whether he noticed or not was up for debate.

"You know how I have the call sign of a famous secret agent that's publicly mocked by everyone who takes that sort of thing seriously?"

Sherlock nodded, before he got what she wasn't saying.

"You have to be joking."

"Well what did you expect me to do, live with that ridiculous call sign and end up the butt of god knows how many stupid jokes about being given it? I gave them a secondary one that everyone assumes is the real call sign, but I rarely bother with it because the main purpose of being 007 is to keep other idiots from becoming an embarrassment to the entire agency!"

It was the main reason they paid her handsomely for doing almost nothing, save for a few odd jobs that didn't take too long and almost never involved widespread criminal conspiracies.

Well, outside of the morons who pissed her off that just happened to be involved in them.

"And the club?"

Joanna's face was full of dark mirth.

"Well how else was I supposed to explain how I got all those anti-magic bullets and guns to shoot them without having to go through so many channels? Besides, ending Riddle _and_ Dumbledore gave me enough notoriety to use the name Black Iris instead of 007. They mostly keep quiet about it because they know the real reason."

"So the odd hack that flashed Moriarty's face along with the official sign of Iris being unhappy with someone?"

Joanna snorted.

"He pisses me off just by existing, and if he _ever_ does something to really end up on my shit list I will not stop until his entire organization is in ashes. No one messes with what's _mine_ ," said Joanna with such conviction it made Sherlock shiver.

She noticed it, but like him said nothing.

* * *

 _Later that night..._

"Ugh. What is that horrible chemical smell?"

She had paused mostly because she thought she saw someone signaling in Morse code, but the letter made absolutely no sense.

UMBRA might have meant something to do with the dark, but UMQRA?

The deeper she went into the hollow, the stronger the faint chemical smell became. It wasn't a full moon, she had her wand on her (not that she needed to worry since they had pretty much wiped out the dementor population during the war) and this was more or less a mundane population since any witch or wizard would have moved the second they connected this "hound" with the word werewolf. Well, that or a Grim, but werewolf was a much more credible threat to the populace and most would have left the area rather than risk it.

Besides, she had never been afraid of the dark.

She found the two men wandering around looking half terrified out of their wits (Sherlock appeared to be holding his cool enough to fool most).

However once they got back to the inn, Joanna did the smart thing.

She dragged Sherlock up to their room where if he had a mental breakdown from the stress that came with fear, it wouldn't be leaked back to Mycroft.

He was trembling. Actually trembling.

"Sherlock, look at me."

His eyes were wide, his skin feverish. He was having trouble holding the scotch she had ordered earlier.

She listened patiently to his ramblings, before she calmly put her hand on his. Strangely, it seemed to calm him down...just a little.

"Sherlock, it's a drug."

"What."

He looked at her, almost as if memorizing her face. He looked for something to quantify his fear, to rationalize why he felt it. He found a sea of calm in the storm of unreasonable terror...and he drew strength from it. So long as his Doctor was calm, he could fake it long enough for her to deal with it.

"When we were in the hollow, I caught a rather unpleasant smell of something chemical and definitely not natural in origin. I also found a drum that looked like it had been exposed to the elements for a while."

"Why aren't you affected by it then?"

If it was a chemical drug, then she should have been exposed as well.

Her smile was dry, but warm.

"When you've been through as much crap as I have, the idea of a spectral hound with glowing red eyes can be considered rather boring."

She'd faced down Fenrir Greyback himself on a full moon and calmly put a hollow-point anti-magic bullet into his head. After facing the sort of warfare magic could bring, the most a spectral hound of death was going to do for her was a "Meh, I've seen better".

Clearly the drug she caught the vague hints of in that hollow was meant to amplify a fear response. Couple that with a random dog or other shadowy figure, and you have the right cocktail to inspire some pretty strange stories.

Besides, her animagus form and the fact she still had that mixture of basilisk venom and phoenix tears meant her body broke it down into it's base ingredients and neutralized it before it could bother her. Couple that with her own life experiences and it was unlikely whatever this was would elicit the reaction it's creator wanted.

"Though this does give me an idea of how to handle our client's nightmares."

A measured dose of a calming drought might be enough to counteract whatever the hell this was. That or dreamless sleep.

Sherlock drew on Joanna's calm nature, and the trembling slowly subsided. So long as she was unafraid, he could rely on her to get through whatever it was.


	9. Chapter 9

"I haven't gotten any friends! Just the one!" said Sherlock after he had said something insensitive to Joan, causing her to walk off in a huff.

Joanna paused, before she looked at Sherlock and sighed.

He was an insensitive bastard, but he was sweet in his own way at times. Most people were put off with his attitude and bad habits (or his "experiments"). Not to mention the fact he had perfected the art of keeping those who could be his friends at a distance like Lestrade.

If he was willing to break down and admit she was the only person he would consider his friend (enough to openly state the word itself), then maybe she could let her own defenses down enough to show she cared too.

"Well I haven't seen my actual face in little over fourteen years, let alone answered to the name I was born with," she said reluctantly.

Sherlock blinked.

"How could you not see your own face in over fourteen years?" he asked.

Before his eyes, her hair lengthened and turned a bright auburn red color that reached to her shoulders. She rarely let it reach her neck, and it was always blond. The shade differed but the color remained yellowish.

"I'm a metamorph. It comes from my father's side of the family. I just alter it a little bit and use this (she held up her left arm, which had a bracelet around it) to keep it locked that way. My face, eyes and hair were too recognizable, and I didn't want to be forced back to what I could have become if I stayed a Hogwarts student."

"...I can understand you changing your name in an effort to avoid idiots, but you really haven't seen your face in fourteen years?"

She gave him a dry Look. He took the hint.

While she had openly admitted to being an international assassin who no one could positively identify (they had been dancing around it for over a year and it had become something of a joke between them), she rarely let her personal shields down enough to share something as personal as this.

She didn't trust anyone, not since she fled that life to make her own destiny.

The fact she was letting Sherlock in, even a little, spoke volumes. Even more than the small fact that while the drug wasn't affecting her like Sherlock and their client, it was drudging up a lot of old memories she would have killed to keep buried.

They slept in their own beds in Baker Street, when they slept at all. But when Sherlock realized that the drug _was_ affecting Joan when her defenses were at their lowest, he did something rather unexpected.

He suffered the "indignity" of being turned into a human-sized teddy bear by Joan.

Strangely, once he got settled into the bed enough that she was able to 'cuddle' with him (if Mycroft or Lestrade ever had a picture of it they would NEVER let him live it down) he found himself drifting off to actual sleep to the point where he woke up a minute before Joan after the sun had risen.

He had settled in around midnight, and woke up around seven.

Which was why he settled in with Joan for every night they were in the village.

Thanks to a carefully dosed amount of calming draught, the effects of the drug were being curtailed enough that Sherlock could _think_ without his thought process being disturbed. Something he was rather relieved about, since it made accessing his mind palace much easier.

* * *

 _Later..._

Sherlock briefly toyed with the idea of letting Joanna become dosed with the drug, but realized that it wouldn't prove a thing because when she was awake her collective experience and body chemistry would render it useless.

So he went for the next best thing. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who Joan had called in. He was as close to the perfect guinea pig as you could get.

He wasn't already dosed by the drug, hadn't developed the same instinctive reaction to danger Joan had, and he was as close to a "normal" person as Sherlock was likely to get without being sued later for it.

Besides, Joan already had the perfect arrangement in place for whenever Sherlock did something "stupid to the point of retaliation" in place for the Scotland Yard for those who were regularly forced to put up with his antics.

Which narrowed the list down to mostly just Lestrade anyway.

If Sherlock did something they couldn't easily forgive within a month of subtly ignoring him, then they were allowed one free hit so long as it wasn't permanently lethal or damaging. The worse the "infraction" the more painful they could make it, up to shooting him in the arse.

Mostly because Joan would eventually remove the bullet to shut Sherlock up. With potions, it would make recovery within a few days.

After the scare Sherlock gave Lestrade, the detective did the smart thing after seeing the subtle nod from Joan.

He broke Sherlock's nose.

"You are such an arse," said Lestrade crossly.

Joan snickered, and Lestrade caught the look on Sherlock's face as he briefly turned to her before he went to work remembering where he had heard the words H.O.U.N.D. _,_ Liberty and IN.

It was about bloody time the idiot caught a clue and realized he liked Joan as more than just an assistant/flatmate!

Lestrade mentally cackled with glee at the thought of winning the office betting pool on who would cave first.

He sidled up with Joan while Sherlock was in his 'mind palace' and grinned.

"So... been enjoying a single room have we?"

"One word and you'll experience the same embarrassment I put Donovan and Anderson through. I assure you it's not as hard as you think to track down baby pictures and post them throughout the entire Scotland Yard."

It took Lestrade a few seconds before the threat registered. He held up his hands in a classic sign of 'surrender'.

But he still had that grin on his face.

"Fine. The bed was warmer than it should have been when I've woken up and Sherlock actually displays signs of sleeping and not the meditation thing he does in it's place for once, despite the fact he usually schedules his sleep."

Lestrade was trying very hard not to break into a jig. He had definitely won that office bet.

And everyone had bet that Joan would be the first to make a move! Sherlock might pretend to dislike human interaction, but Lestrade had realized early on that while Joanna _was_ aware of her feelings to Sherlock, she had zero inclination to ruin a friendship with a potential romance.

In other words Sherlock would have to make the first move, or at the very least give off some indication he had feelings other than close friendship or family towards her.

Sharing a bed might not seem like much, but for someone as closed off as Sherlock and Joan, it said a lot.

"I've got it!"

* * *

Lestrade was staring at Sherlock and Joanna.

"I don't believe this."

"Just be glad I don't agree with memory wipes and that most of what he saw is covered by that fear drug," said Joanna annoyed.

"You two are part of those damn idiots who keep thinking that their sticks mean we haven't caught onto them already?!"

"Excuse me, but I left before I fell into those bad habits. Sherlock from what I could tell was deliberately home-schooled!" said Joanna.

"Magic makes cases too boring," admitted Sherlock, not denying her claim or the fact he had it. Because he _had_ been home schooled with Mycroft due to the political situation and the fact most wizards would react badly to their personalities.

"I still can't believe you're a witch," said Lestrade.

"I prefer not to use my magic too often, but I can be a world class..."

"No, no I remember your feud with Donovan easily enough. This explains a lot more than it doesn't."

Like how Donovan's clothes seemed to become too small without warning after her insensitive remarks, or the time Anderson started saying the truth and nothing but the truth in front of his wife after he said something the entire department could tell pissed off Joan.

"Although..."

"If you want I can convince the potion masters of my club to see if they can't supply you and the others with an aerosol-version of the truth serum," she said without hesitation.

Lestrade grinned.

"My mouth is shut on you and Sherlock, so long as he admits to acting first," said Lestrade.

"What does that mean?" she asked baffled.

Then she saw how Sherlock wasn't meeting her eyes and put 2 and 2 together.

"...Well that explains a few things."

"The drug produced either nightmares or memories, and the chair was uncomfortable," he said.

"Nightmares don't bother me much, so it must have brought the more unpleasant memories to the surface," she said dismissively.

"Like I said, he has to admit to acting on it first, otherwise I'll never win the office betting pool on when you two finally get together."

"Of course there was a betting pool. What did Donovan and Anderson put their money on?"

"You finally giving in and snogging him senseless or jumping him so he got the hint," said Lestrade without hesitation. "Donovan bet on the shagging part though."

"Expect all her coffee to turn into decaff and her tea to be that herbal crap without any actual caffeine for a month," said Joanna cheerfully.

Joanna _hated_ the herbal teas that didn't have the actual tea leaves in them. If it didn't have _Camellia Sinensis_ , commonly called the tea plant in it, then it didn't qualify as "tea" in her opinion.

Even green tea with honey counted as a proper tea, though that had been the month she tricked Sherlock into eating healthy.

* * *

Most people would expect the two to act on their baser urges once they confirmed that they liked each other as romantic partners. Or at the very least go out on public dates.

Most people were not Sherlock, who abhorred normal behavior and knew damn well his brother had him watched with security cameras, or happened to be a surprisingly reserved Joanna who despite popular opinion of her personality rarely went into a physical relationship once she confirmed a mutual interest.

It would shock quite a few people (like Lestrade for instance) to learn that while she had a multitude of girlfriends over the years (lasting from anywhere from six months to two years once), the number of people she slept with was only just in the range of twenty.

She preferred to have a relationship based on an actual connection beyond just sleeping with someone, though she was not adverse to cuddling. It was ironic, but most of her girlfriends were generally women who were either testing out the waters of a lesbian relationship, or found her a "safe" rebound after a bad break-up.

Or in the case of Clara, had left Joanna with the sense of a "sisterly" bond rather than a romantic one. Hence why they were still on fairly good speaking terms and sent Christmas cards.

Considering who she had fallen for, it was probably a good thing Joanna preferred to take things slow, rather than jump into a physical relationship.

Some might ask why Sherlock never took her out on dates like normal couples, but if they asked Joanna on the matter would receive an odd reply.

She considered the cases they went on as dates. She enjoyed seeing Sherlock come alive trying to solve the odd puzzles of the criminal mind, and they usually ate out after leaving the scene anyway.

As for Sherlock... after admitting she hadn't seen her actual face since she was almost fifteen, Joanna slowly let the transformation on her face and other features drop one at a time. It allowed the public to get used to what she really looked like without asking where Joanna Watson was, and it meant she was slowly dropping her guard around Sherlock to show she was letting him in.

The first thing she did was drop the blond hair color, allowing her natural red to show through. Most assumed she had it dyed.

* * *

If one were to ask Mycroft who would marry first, him or Sherlock, he would have said without hesitation it would have been him. Sherlock certainly never seemed interested in the fairer sex, or even in his own gender. Mummy had despaired of getting grandchildren from him and had been subtly pressuring Mycroft to marry for years now.

Then came the mysterious Joanna Harriet Watson, and suddenly the question was thrown up in the air. Anyone with eyes that knew Sherlock on a proper level (or spent enough time around him) would have seen his brother slowly but surely falling for her.

While her past and skills were debatable and highly questionable, her loyalty to his brother was not.

Joanna had a skill set that made Mycroft wary, and for good reason. People in his position preferred known quantities.

Every time he thought he had a read on Joanna she did something or let something slip that threw his vision of her into question.

Mycroft, unlike his brother, did not like it when his perspective of a person was so skewed.

She was a soldier, but her background had been falsified by MI6 and that made her a spy.

She was a witch, but she came from a line that contained the rare shapeshifting gift which limited which family she came from.

She was a doctor, but she was one of the most mysterious assassins in the business.

She had a public record, but everything from the age of fifteen was missing and nothing he could do was able to shed light on her original name.

She was patient and kind, but when angered or annoyed she had the most vindictive mind he had ever seen.

 _"Daddy!"_

Mycroft twitched.

The "gift" given to him by Joanna on his birthday (Mummy had valiantly tried not to laugh, but his father hadn't bothered to hide his amusement) was one of the most annoying prank gifts he had ever encountered.

It was a duck-billed platypus that followed him around and had the personality of a five-year old on a sugar high wanting affection.

Anthea had taken one look at it, and despite her best efforts had barely made it to the hallway before laughing. The door had been open, so he heard it from his desk.

The most irritating part...outside of the open amusement his colleagues had given up trying to hide...was the fact that the blast thing _followed_ him everywhere. And he did mean everywhere. It would even jump into his bed (how, he had no idea because he had moved everything to keep it from getting a launch pad) and the thing was indestructible!

And he had tried, _oh_ how he had tried to destroy the blasted doll. He even attempted fiend fire or feeding it to the dragons! Nothing worked! It would show up like some sort of bad rash the next morning, crying "Daddy!"

He was this close to breaking down and asking Joan how to get rid of the evil thing.

* * *

Sherlock couldn't hide his smug amusement when Mycroft came to the flat with the...gift... Joan had hand-sown for him.

Quibbs the Platypus (named after the _Quibbler_ , which Joanna had a permanent subscription to) followed Mycroft dutifully like a child. Hearing it say "Daddy" in that sickeningly adorable voice nearly caused him to cackle at his brother's situation.

For someone like Mycroft, who practically embodied prim and proper, it was the worst possible "gift" one could give him. His reputation took a harmless hit whenever he was seen with the thing.

Sherlock, once he had gotten over his evil laughter when he realized what Joan had made for his brother, had loved it.

Some might think he hated Mycroft to send it to his brother, but in reality it was more like an extreme version of "sibling rivalry".

At least according to Joan anyway.

Sherlock didn't _do_ half-measures when it came to getting under his older brother's skin, and the pained expression Mycroft had whenever it showed up after an attempt to destroy it had been hilarious.

Joanna had been nice enough to compile a photo album of them.

Mycroft cast a long, annoyed look at Quibbs, before almost begging Joanna.

"Please?"

"What do you think Sherlock? Has he suffered enough?"

Sherlock hid his smirk from his girlfriend (yes, Lestrade did win the pool to the shock of the others since he was the ONLY one who bet Sherlock would move first) before going back to his experiments.

"I suppose I could give you the method to deactivate Quibbs. You just need to hug him for fifteen seconds."

"That's it?" said Mycroft in disbelief.

"That's it. Of course if you do something to really, really piss me off I'll reactivate it from a far and you'll really have owe me big to deactivate it a second time."

Mycroft noticed Sherlock grabbing a camera, and decided the embarrassment of hugging...Quibbs...was a small price to pay in order to turn the damn thing off.

Mycroft hugged the doll long enough for Sherlock to get plenty of blackmail material (Joanna took a few with her phone)...and to his relief the thing slumped and went silent.

"Oh and by the way...the doll has an automatic port key that will return it to your office if you try to get rid of it. It'll return no matter how hard you try to dispose of it, so get used to having it in your office," said Joanna with glee.

Mycroft looked annoyed, but at least the doll wasn't stalking him anymore. He could find a way to cover it's presence up.


	10. Chapter 10

If there was one thing Joanna _hated_ more than idiots, it was the press.

Sherlock might not give a damn, but Joanna knew they were a pack of vultures who'd gladly turn on someone if they thought their star was on the decline for a quick story.

A series of high profile cases and the fact he was already a "big thing" made her defensive.

The fact that they were being a bit more "public" about dating told the world at large that both were off the market.

Which was why Joanna became very paranoid about dealing with the reporters outside the flat.

And that lead to a rather...unusual... conversation with an overly paranoid witch.

"I am not apparating out of the flat," said Sherlock.

He didn't even know _how_ to apparate, as he had loathed the feeling it had. He never bothered to learn.

"You have either two choices then, to avoid that circus out there eager to see you shine."

Sherlock looked at her oddly. He found it fascinating her disdain of reporters...it went beyond even her one-sided (because neither Donovan, Anderson or Mycroft stood a chance against her) feuds.

"What are they?"

"You can either go out the back under an invisibility cloak or a disillusionment charm."

"Or?"

"Or I install a vanishing cabinet and you come out in a random location in London you'll probably figure out the first time you leave the house in question."

Sherlock sat up when he heard the second option.

"Vanishing cabinet it is then. Good thing he hates the place and doesn't mind me using it as my own personal bolt hole," said Joanna cryptically.

"This is about the Reichenbach isn't it?"

"No, this is about the fact that I can see damn well where this is heading and I refuse to let it happen to you. It was bad enough being at the center of it..." muttered Joanna.

Sherlock blinked.

"What?"

Joanna scoffed, and it bothered him. He didn't particularly like the look she had in her eyes.

"Your 'star' is on the rise. That means paparazzi and people watching your every move, not just Mycroft. If something happens to make the public doubt you, not that you'd care if I know you at all, the repercussions are going to be devastating."

"Repercussions?"

"Something is coming. Something terrible and there's nothing I can do to turn the tide. Not at the moment anyway."

Joanna had this horrible sense of foreboding. The last time she had it was when she was fourteen and about to return to Hogwarts for her fifth year.

She had nightmares that felt like true visions of people dying around her, of those she considered family being killed in the senseless war between Dumbledore and Voldemort.

It had bothered her so much she had gone and looked up Hogwarts on the net, which prompted her permanent departure from the school.

That sixth sense of something bad had lead to the woman she was today. And compared to what she had seen in those visions, she hadn't regretted it once.

Joanna went back to normal by dinner...by all appearances anyway. But Sherlock knew the signs of manic determination to do something by heart.

She felt something was coming. Something that could change everything, and she was determined to find a way to weather it out come hell or high water. Every time he glanced at her typing, he could see her making preparations.

He didn't know what they were for, just that she felt she had to do something or she would never be able to sleep.

Had he been able to read the encrypted documents, he would have seen her making bolt holes, call signs, and more importantly sussing out who was in Moriarty's pocket.

Joanna could sense Moriarty would come after Sherlock and she fully intended to make sure he didn't rise again.

* * *

Moriarty did return, and he made a game of stealing the crown jewels and blackmailing the jury to get off free.

However it was the aftermath Joanna was concerned with.

She came home one day after getting the groceries to find assassins in the neighboring flats.

It was done discreetly, but she recognized them.

She put away the food items before casually mentioning it.

"Sherlock, there are four different assassins parked almost right next to our flat."

"What?" he replied, confused.

"There are four hired killers, all professionals from abroad, in separate homes near our flat. The only connection I can see is that Moriarty sent them after you to send a message, or is trying and failing to intimidate you into believing they're a threat against me," she said casually.

Then again she was _used_ to threats against her life.

"...Port keys?"

"Already done and the things she wears most discreetly enchanted."

"Windows?"

"Sealed off with enough to stop anything short of an anti-tank gun, with the same enchantment that's on the Hogwarts sealing only focused on the outside. Really, did you think I'd leave such a vulnerability the second I realized that you had attracted Moriarty's attention after the mess with the bombs?"

"Food and water?"

"Outsourced to something I know he can't taint, and we've been off the grid for electricity and water for almost a month since I moved into the flat."

"If we're off the grid then who do we pay every month?" asked Sherlock.

Joanna gave him a flat look.

"Sherlock, who usually cares about the bills around here when you're off on your own tangent?"

He blinked, then realized that ever since Joanna moved in he hadn't had to deal with the monotony of paying bills, buying the groceries or even cooking. In fact he had come home after the Blind Banker case to find the entire flat warded so thoroughly he had assumed it was Mycroft's work.

"Wards?"

"I may or may not have tweaked the ones Mycroft had left here and given them an upgrade. Frankly I'm surprised he didn't ask to perform the same ones on his own home. Either that or he tried to replicate them on his own."

"Cameras?"

"Enchanting windows to feed back into the laptop is so much more reliable," said Joanna.

Well that explained why he sometimes saw Joanna looking at her laptop when he knew the thing was turned off. The screen was reflective enough for it, as was her phone.

"Walls?"

"I went under my cloak and enchanted them and the roof to be unbreakable. When I settle into a place for the long haul, I make damn sure it's a bloody fortress that keeps my over-prepared nature from having fits."

It wasn't paranoia if they really were out to get you.

"So what's our next move?" asked Sherlock.

"Now? Now we wait for Mycroft. And then...then the fun really begins. I have no intention of letting Moriarty think he'll have an easy go of turning the entire world against you."

It was one thing to make the public turn against someone as stand offish as Sherlock. It was another to piss off a Black who wouldn't hesitate to destroy someone slowly.

And the best part?

Moriarty wouldn't see her coming until it was too late to stop. She would walk right up to him and shoot him point blank in the head after destroying his organization.

He was already having trouble with finding the person hiring the assassins that kept killing his more...efficient...people.

A week later Mycroft 'summoned' Joanna to an exclusive men's club.

Three days after that, Anderson and Donovan suffered a rather...unpleasant week. Starting with Anderson's wife divorcing him and Donovan being demoted, and ending with them having to explain to the credit card companies that their identity had been stolen.

If anyone was going to help Moriarty in discrediting Sherlock, Joanna knew it would be them without any hesitation whatsoever.

* * *

Moriarty wasn't expecting someone to turn one of his tricks right back at him. But it did.

" _Naughty, naughty, little spider. You shouldn't touch other people's toys without permission."_

"And what toy have I been playing with?"

" _The detective. I must admit, your kidnapping scheme was quite clever...however you really don't want to see what I'll do to you if you don't back off and call the hired guns away."_

"Oh no, I like this toy. I Owe Him," said Moriarty.

Her face cracked into a sinister smile that sent chills down the spines of anyone sane. But he wasn't sane. Not for a long, long time.

" _So be it. But I think it will be hard for the police to believe Holmes is a kidnapper when they find my present left in a nice red bow on their doorstep."_

Moriarty looked to the screen outside the Scotland Yard. For a moment there was nothing...until a car screeched into the frame and tossed something out wrapped in a red bow...and red blood all over it.

" _The detective has his Homeless Network. Whereas I? I have the Underground Network. No criminal enters this city or performs something like this without my knowledge. Not all angels wear halos."_

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The screen whited out, save for a single image. Three black irises with an old fashioned black and white photograph of him on trial for the crown jewels. Two of the irises were in a half circle to make a whole one, and the third sliced his photo in half in a diagonal.

It took a moment for his informants to come in that the picture was sent to every screen in the world...and for him to be informed quite bluntly that some of his more interesting backers were dropping him.

No one sane wanted to anger the Black Iris.

Especially not after such a public and blunt declaration that they were coming for his head on a platter and would pay any number asked to kill him, if they didn't do it themselves.

Moriarty started making some calls. He had to know the level of danger he was dealing with...and what he found did not paint a pleasant picture.

* * *

"You what?" said Sherlock baffled.

"I put a very public and expensive hit on Moriarty."

"How?"

"Not all angels wear halos, and the Black Iris is no angel, despite having wings."

"No, I mean how did you put a hit on a man you can't find?"

"Oh. I wrote a facial recognize algorithm that when used tracks anyone who has a high enough match and then alerts every assassin with a rather impressive kill count where to find him along with a base number for payment upon confirmation of his death. Again, you really, really don't want to see what happens when someone royally pisses me off to the point I put a hit out on them."

She had made it for Tom Riddle, but he had found her and solved the issue. MI6 almost never bothered to use it because it meant paying rogues to deal with _their_ problems.

"And the kidnapper?" asked Sherlock.

"Your body double was just hand delivered to the Yard three hours ago in a nice red bow...and a bullet through the skull. There's a strong enough resemblance that even Donovan could see a case of mistaken identity when she saw it," deadpanned Joanna. He also still had the boots with the oil on the bottom.

Sherlock was impressed...and slightly concerned. Exactly how far did Joanna take her paranoia when she got this sort of feeling?

Joanna saw his look and something inside her shifted. Sherlock knew immediately that this was Iris, not his girlfriend.

"Joanna might be the nice one, but I'm the product of a bad home life and even poorer decisions from authority figures. No criminal above a pickpocket moves in London without my say so, even if I don't check in regularly."

The Sorting hat hadn't been that far off when he said she would have done well in Slytherin. Before the war had ended, Iris Black had used her connections in the magical underworld to seize the normal one. So long as she made it clear she was alive, none of her contacts doubted her ability to rule the place with an iron fist.

The few idiots who tried ended up dead before they could make more than a single ripple.

So when she put the word out for a body double of Sherlock Holmes, they had found and put him under interrogation within the hour.

She just waited before delivering him to the Yard to prove a very loud point to the insane "Consulting Criminal" about who controlled the criminal half of London.

If Joanna was the light half, the Iris was very much the 'dark' half. She was just too lazy to act on it unless provoked.

"So what now?" asked Sherlock.

"Now it's his turn. Let's see who dances on the string and who the puppeteer will be," said Iris.

* * *

If there was one thing Mycroft hated, it was the fact he allowed a madman to learn enough about Sherlock to actually do some damage.

Sherlock might not care about his reputation, but those around him... they would be hurt.

Joanna would weather it with ease. She could simply disappear and return under another name like any other spy. But Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade?

They would suffer the fall out of Moriarty's little game with his brother.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Sherlock had somehow ended up in the web of the Black Iris.

Mycroft didn't truly believe that Joanna could be the assassin as she claimed, or as her file said.

Files and evidence could be faked. The Black Iris was cold blooded enough to make even Moriarty nervous, and she had access to a program that was very dangerous. More so than the "key" Moriarty claimed to be in possession of.

He found it hard to believe that that the shadow Queen of England was living with his brother, or that Joanna had it in her to be ruthless enough to rule the London criminal network via the magical community.

So when Sherlock asked for his aid in faking his death... Mycroft helped with no hesitation.

It was atonement for his error in telling Moriarty anything he could use against his brother.


	11. Chapter 11

It couldn't be happening.

Joanna saw _him_ fall. Sherlock, committing suicide.

It didn't seem real. Sherlock was too arrogant, too self-assured to commit suicide just like that. And that apology...she knew it was a warning that Jim Moriarty had threatened to kill Sherlock's only connection to his humanity.

Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson. Joanna.

"SHERLOCK!"

* * *

There was a funeral. All big and impressive, of course. Mycroft had spared no expense, even fixing his brother up so that you couldn't see the blood from the fall.

Something inside her snapped. Broke into a million pieces to the point she didn't think she would ever be able to put them back together again.

She had thought the visions of seeing everyone she loved die because of a pointless war had been terrible. Being around dementors always brought them back.

But she knew without a doubt that if she ever went near one of those accursed monsters again, she would hear Sherlock's "note" and see him fall.

And she would break.

She wondered, in the deepest part of her heart, if Sherlock would know how much he meant to her.

If he were there she had no doubt even _he_ would be moved by the terrible, almost soul-destroying sound of her cry when she realized Sherlock was gone.

Even Sherlock, discreetly watching from a distance, would never be able to get that horrible sound out of his mind for as long as he lived. Even remembering it would bring such despair and crushing loneliness that he would need to be around others just to bear it.

He really, really did not want Joanna to find out he had faked his death. He was absolutely terrified to find out what she would do to him if she did.

* * *

Iris was on a mission.

She was going to wipe even the _mention_ of Jim Moriarty from the face of the planet, to the point that if he ever surfaced again no sane criminal organization would dare want to work with him for fear of her wrath.

She had made headway by ferreting out his main bases of operation and the players involved. Now she just had to hunt them down and make examples of them.

In less than three months after Sherlock's death, word had already begun to spread among the criminal groups of her wrath.

Police all over the world were overworked when gangs, mafias and other organized crime realized the danger, and began to deal with the idiots who helped Moriarty before they brought the Black Iris down on their heads.

No sane boss of an organized crime ring wanted an assassin who didn't care about the collateral damage or even the cops to come anywhere near their base.

She even made sure she wouldn't be identified later, when she had finished avenging her friend.

Light green hair with red tips, her eyes a flat blood red that held no mercy or humanity in them. On her back was a pair of 'fake' wings, at least everyone assumed they were.

Iris never really did tell Sherlock what her animagus form was, outside of it being a rather poisonous variety of phoenix that was from Chinese folklore.

Zhen didn't need a gun or human methods to kill. By consuming poison, their very feathers became producers of a poison so deadly there was no cure...unless you had phoenix tears or willingly given blood from the bird itself. It was an ancient Chinese bird that was so rare nowadays almost no one had heard of it.

When the very air you breathe became a deadly poison, it was impossible to escape. When a Zhen animagus decided to end you, then it was easier and less painful to simple slit your own throat.

There was a reason the Black Iris ruled the Underworld in the UK. Not only did she have the perfect cover with her shape shifting abilities, but her animal form was so deadly that a basilisk seemed tame in comparison.

She didn't need to rule it directly to be the Queen. All she had to do was hold the fear of her wrath if she didn't get the answers when she wanted them over their heads. Well that and none of the current magical stock wanted to piss off the witch who so casually murdered Dumbledore _and_ Voldemort without even a scratch on her.

It was better to give her what she wanted and hoped it was enough to make her go away...

* * *

 _India..._

Iris was very good at killing, and even more persistent when it came to tracking down leads.

So when she heard of a nuisance who was killing her targets in a sloppy manner before she could forcibly extract information from them, she knew she would need to teach the upstart a lesson. Or simply kill them, whichever was more fun.

It had only been six months since Sherlock died, and the very idea of Joanna Watson, the woman-who-blogged was becoming a distant memory.

She didn't like it, but something inside her broke when Sherlock died and she didn't see a way for Joanna to return.

Which was truly a shame, because she liked being Joanna more than she did being the Black Iris.

Iris was a girl from a broken childhood and the product of piss-poor manipulations from a senile old man who though that the sacrifice of the one was worth saving a bunch of ungrateful bastards who were doomed to die out via inbreeding within a century. She had no qualms about killing because she had never been taught people were worth anything to begin with. She was worth even less, according to the people who raised her, a fact emphasized by the fact that the people she was supposed to "save" were so quick to turn on her for the smallest infraction.

If she was worthless, then so were everyone else.

There was a reason she let Joanna take control.

She didn't like being Iris Potter-Black, murdering psychopath.

Iris went around the corner, where her contacts informed her that the idiot who had been taking her kills would be. They had deliberately mislead the man into believing one of Moriarty's network would be at this location.

The second she saw him, her heart filled with rage and her soul turned to ice so cold that even the depths of Jotunheim would seem positively tropical in comparison.

How dare he. How _dare_ he?

What doomed fool would _dare_ take his face, his form after what had happened? The entire world knew Sherlock had been under her watch, and that the destruction of Moriarty and anything associated with him was because he made the Consulting Detective commit suicide.

Iris could feel her poison rise to the surface.

She would make this man's death so slow and painful her next targets would consider a bullet to the head tame in comparison.

She grabbed the dead man, and slammed him into a stone wall. Her fury was so palpable it was visible.

The dead man said nothing, but his lack of fear made something in her pause.

"You are either a complete idiot, or you have an open death wish. Otherwise you wouldn't be stupid enough to wear the face of a dead man," she snarled.

The man blinked, before a slow recognition came onto his face.

"And who said I was wearing the face of a dead man?" he replied in a familiar tone of voice with dead calm.

God, he even _sounded_ like Sherlock. Right down to the snide tone.

"Don't play games with me. Sherlock Holmes died six months ago. Only an idiot would dare wear his face and use his voice when everyone knows I've been going after that fool's network for killing him."

Recognition turned to certainty, and what the man said next shook her to the core.

His smirk almost made her want to claw his eyes out and force him to eat them, and his voice was absolutely smug as he said with a familiar drawl that had made many a man want to punch him in the face just for breathing...

"Really Joanna, I expected you to track me down months ago."

Iris blinked, as dawning shock came upon her features.

"Sherlock?"

Could she possibly dare to hope? Then again it was Sherlock...the idea of him faking a suicide wasn't the least bit far fetched.

The fact he was brazen enough to kiss her on the lips, despite the fact any child could have told you she was the Black Iris was evidence enough for her.

"YOU COMPLETE BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU...!"

She started sobbing into his coat. The scent was all she needed to confirm it was him and that he was very much alive. The way he reluctantly held her as she bawled into his shirt, the tentative gestures of a man unused to touching others in a comforting fashion.

Once she was able to get control of herself, the first thing she said confirmed to him he was dealing with Joanna again, and not the vicious Black Iris.

"Of course you realize I'm going to make Mycroft suffer for years after this," she said, eyes red and voice hoarse from her crying.

Not only did he give Moriarty the ammunition to hurt Sherlock in a personal way, but he had the _gall_ not to discreetly tell her Sherlock was still alive.

For that he had to pay and pay dearly.

Sherlock had to smirk as Joanna took out a mirror, spoke the pass phrase keyed to the window in Mycroft's office...and then reactivated Quibbs the annoying doll. Only now he had an extra feature that would react at random.

Never piss off a Black with access to the spells needed to make the most annoying Voodoo doll possible. Especially if they had a reason to get revenge on you.

She had the best night's sleep in months, as she had been too revenge driven to actually do more than lightly doze.

* * *

 _In America..._

Sherlock was slightly confused as to why his fiancee was dragging him to a clinic for children diagnosed with certain mental disorders. They weren't due to return home for another several months, though he was well aware that Joanna was primary physician for children who gave the other doctors a harder time than necessary.

He thought she had a fairly good handle at diagnosing things like autism or Asperger's, so why was she visiting this clinic?

More importantly why in the bloody hell was she dragging _him_ to the clinic when he had no interest in such things?

Joanna on the other hand wanted to confirm a suspicion she'd long since had after taking shifts with children who acted far too much like Sherlock on their worst days.

As a doctor, she was well aware she was too close to the patient to be reliable, but an outside observer who had no previous exposure to him was the perfect source.

She left Sherlock with the other doctors, then went to talk to some people who had experience coaching other doctors in recognizing the tell tale symptoms of things easily missed.

ADHD and ADD were fairly easy to pick up on. Autism, not so much.

Within twenty minutes of being around Sherlock, someone came to find her.

"Dr...?"

"Watson. Joanna Watson of London."

"Dr. Watson. Are you aware your...companion is a high functioning autistic?" he asked bluntly.

From the way Mr. Holmes reacted, it was likely he wasn't even aware of the fact he had it. Or he had been trained to ignore the obvious.

Joanna slumped, but not with dismay.

It was relief.

"Thank god. I had a feeling that he had HFA, but I was too close to confirm the diagnosis myself," she admitted.

"And since we have no previous experience with your companion, any diagnosis we make would be unbiased. Rather smart actually," said the man with approval. His name tag read 'Doctor Smith'.

"Fiancee, actually. I've had a suspicion since I was put on the rotation to deal with other children that have autism since they respond better to me back home, but I wasn't entirely sure. From what I know of the family it could have been missed for any number of reasons from his brother to his upbringing in general."

The Holmes, despite being very good with technology, were pure bloods. There was a high possibility that they wouldn't know the signs, or if they did, they trained Sherlock with some bad habits to disguise the issue entirely. It also explained Mycroft's behavior towards his brother, and why he "worried about him constantly".

Mainly it was the fact Sherlock had an extreme difficulty picking up on normal behavioral queues (such as his inability to recognize Molly's infatuation with him) and his lack of a brain to mouth filter which resulted in damn near everyone forced to work with him having the urge to punch him in the face. And that was _before_ one got into his extreme fascination with explosions, crime and science in general. Autistic patients were well known to specialize in things to the point they became experts in the subject.

His abrasive attitude and narcissistic personality combined with the ingrained arrogance of a pure blood meant that most would have great difficulty catching on to the truth.

It also meant she would destroy Sergeant Donovan and Anderson the next time she saw them, because there was no excuse for their behavior when she finally had the proper name for Sherlock's behavior around others.

As the left the clinic, Sherlock's first words were "You took me there to confirm something, didn't you?"

"You have High Functioning Autism, possibly Asperger's Syndrome. I don't know if Mycroft subtly trained you to hide the common signs, or if it was an accident because of your upbringing. Since I was too close to you, I couldn't make a proper diagnosis and have it hold water."

Sherlock hummed. He did know what the terms meant, and upon reflection he did fit most of the signs attributed to both.

"Before you ask, I'm not prescribing any pills or treatments. I've suspected it for a long time and while you can be a complete bastard, I see no reason to change you. You're fine exactly as you are, and if Mycroft tries to hide it from some perceived idea that having an different brain chemistry from most I will hurt him badly enough to make him reconsider," said Joanna flatly.

She was used to Sherlock unfiltered, and she had no pressing desire to change him to make society feel better about themselves.

The only difference between when she first realized his possible condition and now was that she had confirmed the name for why he was such a complete ass that needed someone to act as his brain-to-mouth filter.

* * *

 _One year later..._

Between Sherlock's skills and Iris' connections, it took much less time and effort to track down and destroy Moriarty's network.

Mycroft had been very annoyed and not very surprised to find out Joanna had found Sherlock. She had been missing for months since the funeral, so it wasn't too far stretched to believe she had gone on a revenge mission against Moriarty.

Nor had he been shocked to find out Sherlock had finally stopped prancing around and proposed to Joanna. He had been expecting it for months since they officially started dating. They were due to have the wedding once they returned to England.

A private ceremony presided over by Joanna's little club, and a select few friends. Only a few of Sherlock's family would be invited to keep everything nice and discreet.

Mummy was rather pleased _one_ of her sons would be married, and thus would eventually produce grandchildren to spoil. The fact it was a girl from a good bloodline was just icing on the cake.

All over the UK, discreet invitations were popping up in the most random places.

Had anyone known to track this event, they would have recognized Joanna's handiwork in a heart beat.

Of course one invitation had to travel a bit...farther than most.

Clara took one look at her phone, then asked the mad man next to her with a rather...odd...grin on her face "Do you like weddings?"

"Love them."

"Well I guarantee my ex-girlfriend is going to love the plus one I'm bringing then," she said trying not to laugh.

Joanna was likely to have a total fan girl moment (along with a good chunk of her likely guest list) when she realized who Clara was bringing. Then she saw the other half of the invitation and she did laugh.

She sent a quick text, and got immediate confirmation with Joanna.

"So who's getting married?"

"An old girlfriend named Joanna Watson and her rather odd flatmate Sherlock Holmes."

The Doctor blinked, before looking at her oddly.

"Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes?"

"Joanna changed her name because she loved the classics, and was tickled pink when she found a flatmate who's name actually _is_ Sherlock Holmes."

The Doctor looked pretty excited to go to the wedding now.

Clara looked at her phone again.

"And it looks like I'm due for a fitting in the bride's maid dress. I'm her maid of honor," she said after reading the text.

"When's the fitting?"

With the ease of practice, the Doctor set the T.A.R.D.I.S. flying into time and space so she could make it.

Besides, who didn't love weddings?

* * *

Joanna's first meeting with "Mummy" Holmes went rather well. The fact she had despaired in her youngest son marrying anyone would softened any potential perceived flaws she might have thought Joanna may have.

Though the 'reunion' with Mycroft could have gone better...for him.

Joanna was not amused in the least that Mycroft had subtly guided his younger brother into hiding the fact he was a High Functioning Autistic from society, or that he never discouraged the fact Sherlock had developed an abrasive personality in the first place.

His nose might heal in time for the wedding, but there was no way in _hell_ Joanna was letting him hide the truth anymore.

It was not the Victorian era, and having a slightly different brain chemistry wasn't something you needed to hide. Especially when it was someone like Sherlock who functioned _with_ his condition to be a productive member of society.

Too bad she already had a very effective barrister...otherwise she might have taken him up on the offer of several he had on retainer.

She was already writing a scathing letter to the newspapers that had jumped on the possibility Sherlock was a fraud when he didn't even _want_ to be famous.

She was already working with her cousin Andromeda Tonks to have Donovan and Anderson fired.


	12. Chapter 12

The Doctor didn't know what to think of the wedding he had actually been invited to (talk about an unfortunate rarity for him, not having to crash someone's wedding!).

However he would openly admit to absolutely loving Clara's ex-girlfriend Joanna when the woman took one look at his outfit and immediately declared something was missing...before casually bringing out a bright red fez which she put on his head. Clara had looked exasperated but didn't complain, which meant he had a legitimate reason to wear an awesome hat to the wedding.

"So you're wearing the traditional wedding dress of the Holmes family to cover something old, a pair of brand new earrings to cover the blue aspect and the new, and you're finally letting your hair stay red to cover the last part," said Clara.

It was the age old rhyme of 'something old, something new, something red, something blue'.

The Doctor couldn't see it from where he was reading Joanna's blog, but the "new, blue earrings" were in fact a pair of TARDIS earrings one of her friends from the club had gotten her specifically for the wedding.

More importantly while the wedding itself was a traditional wedding, the reception was more Joanna's style. Most of the guests would be immediately changing into their usual cosplay costumes from the _Doctor Who_ show...and Clara had agreed to provide the TARDIS in the background.

The Doctor still had no clue why she told him to park the TARDIS specifically in the corner where everyone could see it, or why she had banned him from the reception hall after while they decorated the place to look like the inside of the TARDIS from the old shows down to the little round things. There were even little Weeping Angels on the tables, fake Daleks programmed to serve food and drinks, and of course the table cloth looked like the outside of the TARDIS itself.

Odds were he'd freak out a little, get busted as the actual Doctor, and then have to deal with his _massive_ fan base. Knowing Joanna she'd do something really off the wall and toast the TARDIS for putting up with him for all these centuries, because while it wasn't human, it did have a personality.

"Do stop twitching Sherlock, it's unbecoming," said Mycroft in the other room. Sherlock was banned without prejudice from his soon-to-be wife, and Lestrade (once he had gotten his one punch in the gut for making him believe Sherlock was dead in the first place) was going to be his best man.

Sherlock was still too miffed at learning Mycroft's involvement in the mess that forced him to fake a suicide and being lied to since he was a child to give him the honor.

Mr. Holmes, who openly admitted he was the least "intelligent" one of the Holmes family, was observing the entire thing with open pride. Like his wife he had despaired of his youngest son ever finding a nice girl to settle down with. He could have even lived with Sherlock finding a nice man, so long as he was happy.

That Joanna was a witch from a very well-to-do magical line (thus securing their future progeny of having the gift and very little defects to go with it) and happened to be a well behaved young woman who could change her features was just a nice bonus.

He would admit the surprised look on Mycroft's face learning that Joanna's original name was Iris Melody Potter was rather hilarious.

Finding out his little brother had not only _found_ the missing "savior" but that he was marrying her was something he never expected.

He did have to wonder why she was only slightly altering her name and her features once Sherlock was coming out of hiding.

Sherlock made a face at his brother.

"So why is Joanna changing back to the way she was before?" asked Mycroft, adjusting Sherlock's scarf.

It wouldn't be Sherlock without his trademark scarf, according to Joanna. He was just thrilled she wasn't forcing him to wear the hat on top of it.

"She said that if I was coming out of hiding then there's no reason she can't do the same. Once the marriage is settled and filed with the Ministries, there's no way for the idiots who tried to control her to be able to bother her again."

She wouldn't put it past the idiots who ran the "official" Ministry (read: the one Dumbledore had controlled) to have written up a marriage law to force anyone from a line that mattered...like the Potters or the Blacks... to be paired off with a "suitable spouse".

That or they might try to use a marriage contract she never signed and knew her parents never made to drag her back into their society.

Besides, Sherlock _liked_ the fact Joanna felt comfortable around him enough to let her original appearance come back to the point she quit hiding.

"I still can't believe Sherlock of all people is getting married," said Lestrade.

"What about Donovan or Anderson?" asked Sherlock.

"Oh no, they have it coming to them. Those two idiots are one of the best kept embarrassments of the department and I'll be glad to see them gone. Frankly I'm surprised it took this long for her patience to snap before she did something about it," said Lestrade without hesitation.

Lestrade hid it well, but few of the senior inspectors _wanted_ to work with Anderson, much less Donovan. The twit had an appalling lack of professionalism when it came to people who were diagnosed with mental conditions. Either Sherlock's attitude rubbed Donovan so raw that it made her ability to emphasize with others, or she was naturally bad at being open minded.

And Anderson...the less said about how terrible he was at deduction the better. There was a reason he flunked out of the police academy and had to be thrown into Forensics.

Lestrade would rather work with an autistic ass who focused on crime and had a naturally high IQ and could spot the small details then two unprofessional idiots like them.

The room was silent, before Lestrade tried to make small talk again.

"Any idea what she has planned for the reception?"

"All I know is that she gave her ex-girlfriend permission to bring in a life-sized TARDIS and that most of the decorations will be _Doctor Who_ related. And that she conjured up a bright red fez for Clara's plus one, and he looks far too similar to the current _Doctor_ from the show," said Sherlock.

Lestrade snickered. He had seen the picture of Sherlock with a cold wrapped up in a TARDIS blanket complete with stuffy nose. To add insult to injury, she had even put the bright red fez on his head. Sherlock had not been amused.

* * *

 _In the other room with the girls..._

"I love the stuffy detective with the fez hat," said the Doctor.

"So does Lestrade. Should have seen his reaction to the bed sheet in Buckingham Palace. I think the Queen asked for a copy of that one," said Joanna from behind the curtain.

Most would question why there was a man in the room where the bride was getting dressed, but Clara had been firm about keeping an "eye on her plus one". Besides, he was safely enthralled with Joanna's blog.

"Which file is that?"

Joanna told him, which prompted the next question.

"Was he actually wearing nothing but a bed sheet in the palace?"

"Not even a set of trousers under it. Mycroft had to force him to get properly dressed, and then he went and stole an ashtray as a joke," said Joanna. The Doctor giggled with delight.

Abrasive attitude or not, he could grow to like this Sherlock.

"And don't get me started on the minor prank war I started with him. I think Mycroft choked on his morning tea when he saw his brother duct taped to the ceiling, complete with tape on his mouth. I know Lestrade had to share that one with everyone who worked with Sherlock regularly once he stopped laughing long enough," said Joanna with glee.

From what she heard of the few people who believed in Sherlock (at least enough to doubt that he could fake being that much of an arse with such consistency) they almost had to put Lestrade on medical leave from laughing so hard while drinking the piss poor coffee they served at the Yard.

"I want copies of those," said Mrs. Holmes without hesitation.

Joanna had anticipated that request, which was why she had Clara bring out a rather _massive_ photo album. Mrs. Holmes was soon smirking as well as she thumbed through the rather inventive pranks and blackmail material Joanna had so thoughtfully collected for her.

"Consider that my gift to you for welcoming me to the family."

"Such a considerate girl."

"Of course if we exchange e-mail address I could send them to you direct."

Mrs. Holmes smirked.

"DADDY!"

Everyone except Joanna turned to look at the racket, as someone had left the door open.

"Ha! Looks like Mycroft's plus one finally got here," cackled Joanna.

"Who's his plus one?" asked Clara, knowing the look on Joanna's face.

"An enchanted duck billed platypus doll I named Quibbs. It's made to follow him everywhere, and act like a hyper five year old child who calls Mycroft 'Daddy'. Since he didn't tell me Sherlock was alive I also activated it's more annoying habits. It will openly ask extremely awkward or embarrassing questions and the only way to make them drop is for Mycroft to explain them in far too much detail."

The Doctor suddenly laughed, as he had found the picture of Mycroft hugging Quibbs.

"Is this the doll?"

"Let's just say I had help designing it," said Joanna smirking.

"Evil," said Clara, but she was grinning.

Only an idiot pissed off Joanna and it was just Mycroft's bad luck she liked to annoy the "stiff, boring people" like him whenever and wherever possible.

"And done. You look absolutely beautiful Joanna," said Luna happily. She was one of the few people from Hogwarts Joanna had kept in contact with, much less invited to the wedding. She was a bridesmaid as well, which tickled her pink.

"Look at the time! We really need to get everyone in their places!" said Mrs. Holmes.

"And you need to get in the front row before someone takes your spot," said Clara to the Doctor firmly. He gave her a salute and left the room.

There was a knock on the door, and a rather roguish looking man popped his head in. His blue eyes and neatly combed black hair made him look rather dashing.

"Hello, hello. Is my girl ready for her big day?" asked Sirius. He made an open wolf-whistle when Joanna stepped out from behind the curtain. "James would be so proud and Lily would be beside herself is she saw you now."

"This coming from the hound dog who has to walk me down the isle," said Joanna smirking. "Did you get a picture of Mycroft's face when he saw Quibbs leap into the room?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, holding out an old fashioned camera. He was taking plenty of pictures, as was Remus and Nymphadora "say my first name and suffer" Tonks-Lupin.

Their son Teddy was going to be the ring-bearer, a fact he was inordinately proud of.

* * *

The ceremony went off without a single hitch. Sherlock looked very dashing in his royal purple scarf and black tux. The dress fit perfectly, which was only natural since Joanna could shift her body features to fit it.

There were mostly muggleborns in the audience from Joanna's club, with the rare sprinkling of a pure blood.

Percy Weasley and his wife Penelope looked rather confused why Joanna had invited them as well as the oldest Weasleys. The only ones missing were Ginny, Ron and their parents Molly and Arthur. Even Hermione had been invited, though she was in the back.

However it was the after party everyone looked forward to.

The second Joanna saw what Clara brought (and had tastefully decorated in little TARDIS-inspired lights) she had a massive grin.

"Clara, where did you find such a perfect replica of the TARDIS, down to the correct placement of the little white ambulance circle?"

Clara merely grinned, but was openly enjoying the look of surprise on the Doctor's face. The expression he had when the fake Dalek rolled up to him much like R2-D2 would and said in a perfect replica of a Dalek's voice _"Tea? Alcoholic Beverage? Punch?"_

The Doctor gave Clara a baleful look.

"You knew."

"Joanna is a massive fan of a TV show called _Doctor Who_ , so when she said the reception would be themed after the show I couldn't resist. Everything here is a replica, not the real thing, right down to the fake Weeping Cupids on the tables," said Clara. Her grin widened. "Remember the little blue earrings she was wearing? They're tiny versions of the TARDIS."

Joanna sidled up to them, her eyes glinting.

"I take it this isn't the actor Matt Smith, who plays the current incarnation of the Doctor you brought along as a joke."

"Not in the least," said Clara.

"And that's not a replica in the corner is it."

"Nope," grinned Clara.

"You know what that means, don't you?"

"I have a guess, but I want to watch his expression when he hears it later," said Clara.

Joanna grinned. Clara knew her so well.

"What is she going to do?"

"Well I'll leave the surprise for later, but if I know her you've just been permanently invited to all her Christmas parties," said Clara, sipping her scotch.

The Doctor blinked.

"Why would I get a permanent invite?"

Clara snickered, before she explained.

"Joanna always says it's not a Christmas without some form of disaster or catastrophe to bring in the new year, and at least when the Doctor around it's never boring. She actually stayed in London the year everyone left, and was openly hoping to see some form of crisis happening. She was rather disappointed to learn she missed the space ship flying over the palace because she went to get another drink," said Clara.

The Doctor choked on his punch.

After the cake was cut and the speeches were given by the guests, very few were really surprised to see Joanna lead a toast.

The Doctor was rather curious what the bride would have to say with that much whiskey in her glass.

"Let's not forget our favorite hero of all British citizens, the Doctor!"

"Here, here!" shouted many in the crowd.

Clara grinned as the Doctor choked on his punch again.

"And of course who could forget his most stalwart and patient partner, the one who always travels with him... the TARDIS!"

He choked again, but everyone turned when they heard the audible hum from the "replica" in the corner.

Joanna's eyes glinted with mischief, and Clara knew _exactly_ what was coming.

"And of course let's thank Clara for bringing the real one with her, even if he didn't know what the reception's theme was going to be!"

Everyone turned to look at him, fez and all. Clara was laughing behind her glass at the deer-in-the-headlights look he had now.

"Did I forget to mention most of her guests were fans of the show, and that you'll likely be swamped for autographs now?" she said giggling.

"A bit, yeah."

"Or that they'll definitely want a demonstration of a real sonic screwdriver, and that some will absolutely ask questions about the ship?"

Like Sherlock, for instance.

* * *

 _Several hours later..._

If Sherlock and Joanna were glad the wedding was finally over and the license filed, it was nothing compared to the shell shock the Doctor had from the after party.

Clara had hijacked him and the TARDIS without warning with the open lure of a wedding. He honestly had no idea he had fans, much less magical ones. He would admit, it had been very fun and the ship certainly loved the attention.

"You tricked me," he said with a puppy-dog look.

"Yup. I figured you would have fun with people who actually _want_ you around and I knew Joanna would love having the Doctor at her wedding."

And as Clara predicted, he now had a permanent invitation to all Christmas parties...which was pretty odd considering most wanted him far, far away during that time of the year.

It was odd, being around that many people who knew of him and his luck, and were more than happy to treat him as a welcomed guest. And they had respected his request not to go traipsing around the ship, outside of the control center. That had really surprised him.

* * *

 _Two months later, after the honeymoon..._

Lestrade hid a smirk at the shocked expressions on the faces of everyone else. Joanna had been quite vicious ripping the newspapers who had run with the story of the "Sherlock the fraud" to pieces, especially the reporter who bought the Rick Brook story in the first place to create the expose.

He was one of the few who knew about the scathing letter Joanna had written to the papers at large that she would force them to print once the news Sherlock was alive had settled into the public's minds.

Donovan in particular looked at Sherlock in disbelief...but her attention was quickly diverted to the papers Joanna had shoved into her hand. It took a few seconds to process what they were.

"You're suing me?!"

"You better bloody well believe I'm suing your ass. I put up with your insensitive remarks and the fact you openly stated you thought he 'got off' on being at crime scenes. And unfortunately for you, I have more than sufficient evidence to have you barred from any law enforcement job, never mind private security jobs," she said coldly.

She then noticed Anderson.

"You're next. You were no better than this idiot."

"Hold on, all the evidence said Sherlock was in on it!" said Donovan furious.

"No, your own bias against him was enough for you to look for _any_ proof Sherlock would be in on a high-profile crime. I have more than enough evidence for any jury to believe otherwise."

"That girl screamed when she saw him!"

"And it never occurred to you that maybe the kidnapper could have threatened her brother to convince her to scream when she saw him by using a photo?" said Joanna snidely.

Donovan winced.

Her job done, Sherlock went to speak to Lestrade.

"Hold on, he can't be here! He was the subject of a kidnapping investigation!" said Anderson.

Everyone waited with baited breath for Joanna to resolve _that_ issue.

"I've already cleared it with the Chief Inspector," she said calmly.

After the chewing out she gave that fat tub of idiocy, he had been more than happy to either fire Donovan and Anderson, or transfer them to the most inhospitable place he could think of.

He did _not_ want the bad PR from what Joanna would bring up if the press found out the truth. If people thought the Scotland Yard condoned harassing people like Sherlock who had a unique brain chemistry... the mere idea of the public's reaction made him wince.

Mycroft might want to hide it, out of an instinctive desire to keep the family's "dirty laundry" from becoming public knowledge (mostly because they were pure bloods, and keeping mental defects was a common practice), but there was nothing wrong with being autistic in this day and age.

Lestrade clapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"Good to have you back."

Sherlock smirked.


	13. Chapter 13

A head of mostly bushy haired looked at the unassuming clinic, and hid a wince. Ever since the wedding...which had come to a great shock to the magical community, learning their missing Savior had not only abandoned the 'traditional' education, but had somehow managed to marry into the famous Holmes clan with great blessing from the current Matriarch...Hermione Granger, formerly Weasley, had been sitting in her flat trying to work up the last bit of Gryffindor courage she had to ask for help from an old friend.

Iris...no, her name was Joanna now...had made it clear during the war what her stance on those who followed Dumbledore's teachings were.

It was the main reason Molly, Arthur and the two youngest Weasleys hadn't been invited to the wedding. Well that and Joanna rightly worried that Molly would make a scene, never mind Ron.

Without her to buffer them, the golden trio had fallen apart and Ron's unusual lack of tact had only gotten worse.

They had tried, oh how she had tried, but the marriage fell apart. The only thing keeping her was a doomed sense to keep things together, but eventually her mother-in-law said some things about her infertility that lead to her leaving the family permanently.

Hermione was not oblivious to the fact Molly kept testing her for common potions to prevent pregnancy, or that she laced her food with the counter-potion and charms. Fortunately the overbearing woman was unaware of the advances in modern medicine, including a device which could be implanted that would keep a woman from becoming pregnant for as long as it was in. If not for that little ring, she had absolutely no illusion that the second she became pregnant Molly would have done everything in her power to force her to become a second version of the mother hen.

Leaving had lifted a good deal of stress off her.

Sadly she couldn't find her parents anywhere, at least until the wedding. Finding out Joanna had tracked them down to serve as a warning to other muggleborn parents of the major downsides to allowing their children to fall victim to a "Hogwash Education" as she called it had been an unpleasant shock.

The worst part was that she couldn't even dispute the claim. She had been infatuated with the new world to the point she let her old one suffer.

Taking a swig of some calming draught, she went in. Twenty minutes later Joanna came in.

She looked happy. Hermione didn't bother to try and resent her for it.

She had seen a fraction of what her old friend had gone through when they tried to locate her, and she couldn't blame her one bit.

"Hermione."

"Joanna."

You could cut the tension with a knife. But then Joanna's gaze softened, and she did something that would shock Hermione to the core...and shatter any defenses she had tried to put up.

She hugged her. For a few precious seconds Hermione was stunned, before she started sobbing. It was like a dam had broken.

* * *

 _An hour later..._

It was good to have her friend back. Joanna had to be the single most patient woman in the universe, as shown by the fact she married the biggest prat in England with an abrasive personality. Hermione had heard the stories of Sherlock Holmes.

It didn't hurt that Bill had been kind enough to fill Joanna in on the rough time Hermione had before she finally gave up trying and left. The older Weasleys still considered her part of the family, but their parents and two youngest siblings considered her a traitor bigger than Percy.

"So you tracked Percy down to act as the official go-between with the British government and the 'real' Ministry for Magic?"

"The twins mentioned he was having trouble paying the bills, what with the galleon suddenly losing it's value and the Ministry cracking down on their paychecks. Imagine his shock when he found out the reason why things are so hard for 'purely magical' areas like Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was because the first gens got fed up and decided to drive the old system to a slow death by attrition. Though to be more specific, I simply introduced him to Mycroft who apparently took a liking to him and decided to give him a chance. Apparently he wanted a fellow pure blood in his office to work with who can act as a proper spy for the old guard. No one looks at a pure blood for spies, especially not one from a progressive faction like the Weasleys."

"Mycroft is your brother-in-law, isn't he?"

"If you ask Sherlock, he _is_ the British Government, or damn close anyway. He has the most odd habit of kidnapping people by giving them a minor scare using security cameras, then sending a car after making it clear he's not going to take no for an answer. You might like him, actually. He's a bit frigid and stuffy, but he's almost nice and he likes rules almost as much as you did back at school."

Hermione gave Joanna a Look.

"Alright he's Malfoy with actual class and has more diplomacy than Ron would ever have in his little toenail, much less his body. He might be a pure blood, but he's the sort who can put aside minor things like the fact you're his enemy if he thinks it might prove beneficial for one of his little schemes. I might have married a bloody Ravenclaw, but Mycroft is almost pure Slytherin."

"Would he try to stunt my desire to learn or experiment because he thinks I should act as a proper house wife?" she asked flatly.

"You kidding? He'd be more likely to _fund_ you and give you the best tutors possible once he realizes how smart you can be. You were the most organized girl in Gryffindor, and once he finds out how often you go into the little insignificant details he might hire you," said Joanna without hesitation.

With how bad the inbreeding was with the old lines, it was unlikely he'd be able to find a "proper wife" in the magical community. Sherlock had gotten lucky, Joanna was from an two old lines, but had a first gen for a mother so the chances of her having any defects were very slim.

So Mycroft might take to Hermione enough to consider her as a prospective partner.

If Joanna had interpreted the look in Mrs. Holmes eyes when she saw her up there with Sherlock, once she became pregnant with Sherlock's child Mycroft would end up on the short end of the stick to follow suit.

Joanna knew this would happen. Once Mycroft saw how intelligent Hermione was, and how quickly she could ferret out the little details to create new spells, he hadn't hesitated to hire her on his staff to work on spell research.

Her main project, in between whatever her brilliant mind could come up with? Finding a way to turn off the "gift" known as Quibbs once and for all!

Joanna had snickered at the unamused look Mycroft had given her when she tried and almost failed to hold in her laughter. It was as close to cross as he would get in public.

She wondered how he would react to the news that the easiest way to rid himself of the doll was to have children. Then Quibbs would automatically hone in on them and act like an older sibling.

* * *

 _Back in 221b..._

"How was the trip to see Mycroft?"

"I may or may not have set the foundations for him to marry an old school friend of mine. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out all he had to do to get rid of the doll permanently was to have children."

Sherlock snorted in evil amusement.

"Other than that, I mostly caught up with Hermione."

"Do you want to continue working on your mind palace until supper?" he suggested. There wasn't a case, and Joanna had been intrigued with the concept for a while now.

Sherlock chose his old family home, Joanna had been quick to chose Baker Street. It was the closest thing to a home that felt "safe" since she was an infant.

"I suppose we could order in," said Joanna.

The two settled into a meditative position, and through the link granted by magic via their rings, the two went into a joint mental space. It was one of the many benefits of using one of the older wedding ceremonies in the Black archives. It meant they could find each other no matter where they were, so long as the other was alive. They just had to let the area fall into focus.

Sherlock went around the mental image of their home, occasionally helping her shore up the image with his perfect recall of the flat.

The bookshelf where he kept most of his books (except Pete, who was more like their pet) was where Joanna kept her spell and general knowledge base. No matter which book she picked off the shelf, it would automatically generate the subject she was looking for so long as she knew what she wanted. She could re-read all her favorite books at her leisure without having to find them.

The kitchen became her potions laboratory/recipe area. If she were to open a cabinet she would find all the ingredients to cook up something, or to make a potion along with the memory of what she needed to do and when. The fridge, however, contained one of the many surprise traps in the flat.

Opening it up would reveal an inferi or other Dark creature that would spring out and attack without warning. She based it off Sherlock's rather vexing habit of leaving human body parts in the fridge without warning her. While that might have turned off most prospective partners, Joanna's only request was that he sanitize the fridge after he was done to the same standards as a bio-hazard lab to prevent any contamination.

Which meant bleach. Lots and _lots_ of bleach.

The living room was her emotional nexus... if it was tidy and clean, she was in a good mood and things were fine. Sherlock-level of messiness, and she was in a bad mood and ready to hex someone. Considering she had a minor case of OCD when it came to keeping things clean, it was a pretty interesting way to keep track of her moods.

The shared room where she slept with Sherlock (usually by forcing him to actually sleep) was where she kept her memories of them together. There was a painting on the wall above the headboard that would display images of memories, from that day in Bart's lab all the way to the present. The cabinet against the wall was actually a trap for unwanted visitors. It would suck anyone who opened the door straight to Grimmauld place where all sorts of nasty things waited to rip the idiot apart.

It might be cleaned up in real life, and would serve as a permanent safe house since it was still in Sirius' name and not hers, but she used memories of how bad it had been from Sirius to make it a trap.

They never used the actual vanishing cabinet she had enchanted to avoid the reporters, though she had been very, very tempted.

Mrs. Hudson's flat was naturally the collection of good memories with people she associated with, but wasn't close to other than as a good friend. Everyone from the magicals from Hogwarts she still spoke to on occasion to the tottering old landlady who always insisted she wasn't their house keeper, but still did things around the flat. Like make the tea in the morning whenever Joanna was having a lie-in.

Her half of the flat served as the nexus of the Black Iris, and the memories of all the skills she had had to learn over the course of her entire life. From pick pocketing to using a sniper rifle and healing people the normal way. Iris was enough of a trap for anyone stupid to enter the room to snoop. She didn't suffer intruders, and often slept while the Zhen dozed on it's perch. The window was open, and whenever she shifted into her animagus form (something Sherlock was still having fun playing with, particularly the feathers with special gloves) it would fly out the window.

Her computer, which was usually on the kitchen table, was the center for all her hacking skills. It was password protected, and the password changed at random. Usually after obscure phobias no one would believe existed. If the intruder used the wrong password, they were turned to code, and only someone who knew how to code with magic would be able to escape.

Which pretty much eliminated all but a technomancer, none of whom lived in England.

221c Baker Street was the most unusual room, if anyone managed to get into it.

After evicting Voldemort from her soul/headspace, Joanna had found a void left behind.

Which was why the first thing she did, after erecting basic mental shields and creating the mind palace, was to turn the vacant flat into a prison. It was an empty void that looked disturbingly reminiscent of space itself. It was a completely dead area where magic would be sucked out and used as fuel to strengthen the prison itself. The 'air' was absent, which would shock and possibly do some serious damage to any mind reader stupid enough to enter it, and the crushing cold would make it hard to use any magic.

Joanna had another purpose for the room. For every kill added to her count or the darker aspects of Black Iris, the room would grow colder.

The mental image of 221c was where she kept her worst memories and the darkness of her soul.

Contrary to what she might have thought, Sherlock always thought the fact that the room merely looked like it was under a cloudy day said volumes of the fact that his wife was not evil, or doomed to hell.

Satisfied with the way her mind palace was coming along...and the fact she had kept the unassuming danger of Pete scuttling about to make any intruders curse and wake "Iris" up...they exited the area.

It was close to dark, and Joanna ordered some American pizza. She had forced Sherlock to try a deep dish "Chicago-style" pizza before they tried the "New York-style" kind prior to leaving America...and he hadn't hated it enough for him to ban it from the flat.

Joanna apparently had an addiction to the foodstuff, as well as spaghetti with extra meat. She had the most odd habit of putting noodles, meatballs, sauce, and various cheeses onto slabs of garlic bread and turning the entire thing into a rather messy sandwich.

The first time he had seen her eat the odd concoction (after being bribed into trying a smaller version) he had stared at the fact she didn't look the least bit bothered by the messy way she was eating.

Then again, there was a reason she had stuffed a napkin in her shirt and another on her lap before taking a rather large bite.

Joanna was actually a tidy eater, which was why Sherlock had been so surprised.

So now they had the "best" pizza restaurant on speed dial (according to Joanna's taste buds anyway) and ordered from there at least once a week.

Joanna was walking up from the ground floor after retrieving the pizza from the delivery driver (and giving him a generous tip) when she spotted the old mirror on the wall.

She didn't know why Mrs. Hudson had bought the thing at a sale, or why she insisted on placing it in an area they would pass every time they left the house.

In fact just looking at it gave Joanna this horrifying sense of dark nostalgia...and oddly, a sense of _needing_ to look into the depths of the glass for something.

It wasn't a magical mirror (she had made very sure to check for compulsion charms after the first time) but there was still something familiar. It was almost on the tip of her tongue as to where she had seen it before.

Hence why she was still working on her mind palace, despite the fact Sherlock said it was "sufficient". She felt like there was something critical missing from it. Something to make it complete.

After dinner, when she finished updating her blog again (the most recent case which they finished yesterday), she decided to add something new to her mind palace. It was mostly on a whim, and she saw no harm in it.

She added that odd mirror to the wall, down to the last detail. She even added pieces she barely registered about it anymore, like the tint of colors around the edge and the patina on the wood backing.

When she went to sleep that night, she found herself in a place she never expected. Yet at the same time, she recognized it immediately.

The shadow King's Cross Station where she always ended up when she "sacrificed" herself to insure Voldemort's death.

Everything around her clicked into place, and she found Iris Potter sitting where Dumbledore used to be until she forcibly kicked his old ass into the train to the afterlife.

"Did I die or is this a message from Death?" she inquired to her alternate self.

"More along the lines of setting 'this' timeline into a locked position. A few things could have gone better, but with your permission we can finally lock our destiny in a direction _we_ want it to go, and Dumbledore will never be able to use the Mirror of Fate again," replied her alternate, which was now a male by the name of Harry.

"What do I need to do then?"

Her male/female alternate self, which had altered things through the stream of time a thousand times, and would have done it a thousand times more by diverting the path with tiny steps, turned to face the shadowy figure of a pale man with a familiar cloak, ring and staff made from elder wood.

 _ **Hand the mirror over to her, so that she may take custody of it at long last.**_

Her alternate self handed her the mirror from the flat. The moment she touched it, a sense of cold inevitability settled over her like a familiar cloak. Her other self looked relieved, and went to the train.

"Your turn now. Though now that it's locked, you'll only get one do-over, and you won't be able to see the path it'll take like before."

"Once is enough. And thank you for breaking the unending cycle."

S/He nodded, before finally boarding the train after waiting for so long for a respite.

After they had forced Dumbledore to give up control over the reigns, they had tried to make things right considering how badly he had messed things over for them.

As the train pulled away to the afterlife, Joanna turned to Death. She didn't need to look to see the three Hallows were once again in her possession.

 _ **It is your duty to take upon my mantle, so that I too can finally enjoy the long rest. Like my predecessor, I shall offer you an out, when the burden becomes too much to bear.**_

Joanna nodded, and was about to say something when she heard another voice. One that shouldn't be there.

"Well this is an interesting place. I suppose this is your representation of Limbo?"

Joanna turned, and found...

"Sherlock?!"

* * *

 _Sherlock POV_

He was having the most unusual dream. He was in a shadowy train station and he could hear Joan's voice talking to a figure who was both male an female, holding something in their hands.

From what little he could see, the other figure bore a striking resemblance to his wife's actual appearance, though the gender was far too fluid. The most consistent thing was the obvious "magical" garb with normal clothing under the robe and the tired appearance. A third figure appeared and he felt a supernatural chill creep down his spine.

They obviously saw him, but kept their silence.

The fluid figure handed his wife a mirror that looked disturbingly like the one Mrs. Hudson had bought in their absence and placed in the flat in the front hall. He honestly didn't see the appeal of the item, as it gave him a terrifying feeling.

It reminded him far too much of the old saying of staring into the Abyss and having it stare right back at you.

The moment Joan took the mirror and the fluid figure went into the train (which promptly departed for lands unknown) his wife turned to the other figure who spoke of a mantle.

Sherlock felt the need to speak up, if only to find out what the hell was going on.

Joan turned to face him with shock and disbelief on her face.

"Sherlock?!"

 _ **The ceremony you used to bind yourselves went deeper than just your magic. You**_ **literally** ** _bound your souls to one another, thus allowing them to permanently connect. Even in death, you shall not be parted._**

Death gave Joanna a Look.

 _ **There was a reason why it fell out of favor.**_

Most modern wizards could barely tolerate the idea of binding themselves so thoroughly to _one_ witch or wizard, much less following each other into death. Their egos needed a good kick to the pants.

Sherlock was obviously observing everything around him. Then he reached his wife.

Joanna turned back to Death.

"What does this mean for Sherlock? I thought the Hallows had only _one_ Master."

 _ **Only one can take the mantle of Death...but there are allowances for a Consort. The idea of husband and wife is mostly a human concept. However even the Old Gods recognize that there are some who can be considered equal partners. At most he will be granted protection and follow you into places the human mind is not meant to go without breaking.**_

Joanna relaxed at that. She had no intention of leaving the "mortal plains" just yet. At least not for a few centuries, when boredom firmly set in.

From what she remembered of the latest "incarnation" of "Master of Death" path, her alternate self had gotten really bored and looked for a soul that looked somewhat compatible enough to hopefully break the cycle.

They certainly hadn't expected the "Girl-who-Lived" path to take off like it had, or that the paths that diverged from it to be a mostly straight one that lead directly to Baker Street with a few minor exceptions.

If not for the fact that Joanna was _genuinely_ happy and had found actual love, they might have nixed the path entirely.

The two woke up the next morning. Sherlock would remember the bare gist of what had happened, because he still needed to get used to being "Death's Consort", but Joanna remembered everything.

Then again, she was used to having her soul in limbo after she took command of Fate's Mirror.

She still didn't know where Death found that much magic in such a variety of colors to make a kaleidoscope effect, or why it had bonded with her so thoroughly.


End file.
